A Robinson Tale - Part 2: The Storm
by Colin904
Summary: The Robinsons are forced to settle on an apparently quiet world. But what is that storm on the horizon? And where is the robot? Sequel to A Robinson Tale - Part 1: Freakuencies
1. Chapter 1

A Robinson Tale

Part II

The Storm

* * *

Chapter 1

A muted sun struggled to pierce through the heavy sky.

Sitting on top of a fifty-foot tall sedimentary rock formation, John watched the dark, irregular shapes of hoodoos emerge at the foot of bare pinnacles thirty miles away.

A cloud-to-ground lightning bolt lit up the sky in the distance, too far away to disturb the silence that reigned over the lifeless landscape.

For how long the storm had been raging, John had no clue. But since they'd landed three days ago, it hadn't moved, strengthened, or weakened, and the more he watched it, the more his guts twisted. Maybe it was just a weird storm on a weird planet in a weird system or maybe it was a bombardment that thoroughly and methodically obliterated whatever lay beyond the rocky barrier from the map.

The daylight started to dispell the shadows.

John grabbed his binoculars and scanned the distant crest for movement, searching the sky for a cloud of smoke rising from the ground.

But there was no sign of life, no sign that a siege was occurring. And yet, he couldn't shake the feeling. If he weren't concerned about leaving Maureen and the kids alone for a couple of days, a simple recon would tell him: was it his paranoia or his experience talking?

Why had the robot brought them in this arid world only to leave them behind? What kind of business did he have here? Was he responsible somehow for the lightning storm? Was there a civilization somewhere on this planet? The robot had told Will that it was safe. But safe from whom?

His five o'clock alarm beep interrupted the flow of questions that bubbled through his mind.

John glanced over his shoulder. The ship's bulky outlines began to separate from the dark horizon.

A mix of weariness, frustration, and concern seized him.

The last days had been traumatizing and his whole family was insecure.

Maureen's energy and optimism had vanished. Will, who had been the only one awake when the ship had made a night emergency landing, was following him like his own shadow. Penny was mopey, which was kind of her usual self come to think of it. Judy was... John sighed. Judy was getting on his nerves. It wasn't her fault. She dealt with her stress by focusing on her reason to breathe: helping others feel better. But he could tell her strength was running low, as was her patience. He'd better be back before they all woke up.

John shot a wary glance at the steep, bumpy slopes on either sides of the rocky formation and grunted. He knew when he'd climbed up here an hour ago that he would regret it.

Well, what was done was done.

Bracing himself for the painful effort, he leaned a hand against the friable rock and hauled himself up on his feet with a wince. Yep, his side hurt, right. But that wasn't too bad considering the number of bullets he'd fired between the fuel tanks.

Slowly, John climbed down, picking up thick and prickly grass on his way back to the ship.

Despite the cool temperature, sweat stained his shirt when he dropped his load next to the fire-pit Don had dug on their first day on the planet. He'd been too out of it to be of any help that day, but he was glad the mechanic had taken the initiative. It was reassuring to know that the guy, despite being a smuggler, was reliable.

John crouched next to the can containing the methane-based residue he'd scrubbed the day before from the walls of the Jupiter's fuel tank and lifted the lid.

Half-empty. Damn.

Too bad the grass wouldn't catch on fire without the extra help. And definitely not the way he'd imagined using his scuba wetsuit.

John raised a weary glance to the overcast sky.

So far, the solar panels had barely produced anything and the batteries had charged to a meager two percent, not enough to power anything. They didn't have central ventilation, water pumps, or lights. However, re-establishing modern comfort wasn't his main concern: their diminishing MREs* was.

He'd seen his share of scrawny and scruffy refugees roaming dusty roads, travelling barefoot from camps to camps for months, for years, and he dreaded the moment when they'd have no choice but leave the powerless ship behind to seek better hunting grounds.

How ironic fate was! The conflicts he'd fought in on Earth to stabilize legitimate governments in zones ripped down by decades of insurgencies and wars, to preserve a global order and avoid the world to fall into an increasingly hard to avoid chaos, to spare his family having to share one day the suffering an ever growing part of the humanity was being subjected to, now that terrible fate was staring at them in the face, God knew how many thousand light years away from their home planet.

John heaved a heavy sigh, pressed his hand on his knee, and straightened up despite his protesting muscles. What was the gravity on this planet? Right now, it seemed at least as twice as strong as the pull on all of Earth's war zones combined.

Bleak daylight poured out of the cockpit and bathed the corridor circling the hub in greyish shadows when John stepped on the main deck a moment later. Will's hushed voice sounded behind him.

"Did you find him?"

"Sorry buddy."

"Is it still cloudy?"

"Hey, go back to sleep. It's too early to get up."

"You're up."

"Hey."

John dismissed his son with a jerk of his head toward the boy's bedroom. Once Will had retreated in his quarters, John scanned the half-darkness still engulfing the corridor at the stern. His gaze froze on the metallic gleam of the shaft's handrail. He moved closer, until the tip of his boot reached the edge.

To his relief, his aversion was less intense than the previous day, but a part of him was still wary of going down there and detonating the alarm anew. He wouldn't need a bullet to blow his brains out if that happened.

Though Judy, and Will, Maureen, and, goddammit even Harris, all had explained to him that everything he'd lived down there had been a hallucination triggered by the frequency of the alien harmonics, he still felt the danger in his bones, and he was glad nobody was there to witness his nervous breakdown.

Nah. He wasn't there. He was just nervous but not having a breakdown, right?

John took a deep breath and relaxed his fists. There was only one way to know. Moreover, if he wanted to retrieve the bullets he'd fired, now was as good a time as any.

After casting a look right and left to check once more that he was alone, John climbed down the ladder.

For the next fifteen minutes, he directed the beam of his flashlight through each crook of the narrow but high passageway until the tension in his back and shoulders caused his neck to stiffen and ache.

John crouched down and sat against the retention wall running along the portside tank to take a break.

He relaxed his arms and rotated his head left and right several times, surprised that after twenty-four years of service, his body was still susceptible to stress. A part of him wanted to feel disappointed about it, the other was relieved to observe that he was still a sensible human being with limits, not a war machine.

With that comforting thought, John resumed his search. Although, when the beam of his flashlight suddenly lit up the bottom of the opposite ladder, he froze and stared. His chest tightened. His right leg started shaking and a cold sweat pearled at his hairline and down his spine.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" he said between his teeth as he flopped on the deck, appalled by the intensity of the psychosomatic reaction.

His right leg was fine. He wasn't injured. He wasn't trapped. No hostiles surrounded him. It was only a memory. One he'd dealt with a long time ago, twenty years ago to be exact and never thought about it once ever since. So why did he have to relive it twice in almost as many days?

With his eyes squeezed shut, John forced his heartbeat to ease, breathing in slowly, holding his breath for five seconds, and breathing out deeply while he focused on heartwarming, peaceful memories that had seen him through at that time: Maureen's first smile to him, Judy's chubby little arms clinging around his neck, their laughs, carefree, mischievous, irresistible.

John took a deep, shaky breath and swallowed hard. At least this time, he was lucid enough not to try to kill himself to avoid capture.

After years in the army, he wasn't sure if he could call himself a believer, but two days ago, an imaginary field medic and another soldier had talked him out of committing suicide. If she, the medic, wasn't his guardian angel, who was she?

Feeling calmer by the second, John pushed himself to a kneeling position. What he needed to get past this ordeal was a good laugh and a couple of cold beers, like in the old days.

Damn. No working fridge.

John stood up and resumed his search, sifting through his mind for a practical joke.

Who in the crew would have enough humor to tolerate a prank under the circumstances?

Not Penny, not Will, and not Judy, no, not Judy, not at any cost and whatever the circumstances. He'd pranked a doctor once. The retaliation had come back fast, painful, and humiliating. He had even cancelled his weekend with Maureen and the girls to the beach to avoid further embarrassment, and fifteen years later, there were still a few people in the service to remind him about that disgrace. John smiled at the memory. He wished his old teammates were here. It was easier moving forward when he knew someone had his back.

Three feet up the deck, a foot pressing on each fuel tanks, he stretched an arm over his head to reach for a bullet wedged between two cables on the ceiling, smirking at the many possibilities that his wife's lucky whiteboard, dry erase markers, and a lot of duct tape offered, when Maureen's voice sounded behind him.

"If you tear your stitches again, Judy threatens to use bigger needles."

John jumped down and winced out of pain. "Dammit, Maureen. Don't drop on me like that."

"I called you twice."

John frowned and stared at his wife. Embarrassed to be caught unawares, he averted his eyes and resumed his task. He still missed two bullets.

"Are you looking for this?"

"Er... Yeah. Where did you find it?"

"In the engine room."

"That far, huh? Thanks."

After a quick, assessing glance, he pocketed the projectile and kept on with his search for the last one.

"These are modified bullets."

"The ones Angela fired were damaged and printed bullets are of no use against the robot."

At least they'd learn a critical piece of intel out of this fiasco.

"And it happens that you brought in your luggage the material to remedy the situation."

As it wasn't a question, John ignored Maureen's comment.

"First your automatic vetting into the program, then your diving gear, and now armory modification equipment. John? I had hoped we were done with the lies."

"It's not so much equipment as skills, Maureen. And suits are custom-made to each diver. I got it in favor for my service, nothing more."

"So you keep saying."

John stayed silent. He didn't like where the conversation was going. But his wife knew how to get her point across.

"Why are you here, John? For us or for the army?"

As Maureen turned away with a sigh of frustration, he grabbed her hand.

"I left the army when I left Earth. But life is not as simple as you want it to be. It's made up of compromises at every turn. Compromises I've made to be with you and the kids."

"What compromises?"

"I…" John dropped his head and bit his lips.

"Forget I've asked. I'm going to boil some water. If you're really here to be with us, why don't you join us for breakfast, for once?"

"What time is it?"

"Ten past seven."

John's eyes widened. Already? "I'll be there. Just give me a minute, okay?"

While his wife climbed back to the main deck without a glance or a word, John leaned his forehead against the tank.

Light years away from Earth, resentment still tasted bitter. Well, he'd dwell on the consequences of his professional choices over his personal life during his next sleepless night.

Quickly, he retrieved the eight bullets from his pocket and inspected each of them under the beam of his flashlight. He wouldn't risk using them again except for the one Maureen had found, the only one that was good enough to use if it were worth blowing off his hand. Unless he managed to hack the printer, there was nothing he could do about it. As for the last bullet, with so many cables creeping up like vine on the tanks, he might never find it but he'd search again later.

John grabbed a ladder ring and cast a last look at the dark place. No change in heart rate, no sweat pearling down his spine. He nodded to himself, satisfied. That case was closed.

An instant later, he was striding down the corridor when he bumped into Penny as she walked out of her room.

"Hi, papa."

"Hi, honey. How did you sleep?"

A sudden tug on his sleeve made him skid to a halt and look back at Penny. Her face was pale and her mouth a thin, tight line.

"What's the matter?"

He followed his daughter's stern look and understood. Harris was standing in a corner, sipping a cup of coffee. John squeezed his daughter's hand.

"Hey, the Jupiter's too small to avoid her. Come on, sit down. What do you want to eat?"

"Blueberry oatmeal."

John retrieved a tray in the cupboard when he noticed Will leaning over the table with his head propped in his hand, whirling a spoon in his cereals. "Hey, buddy! Slept well?"

"Meh."

"Where's your mom?"

Will jerked his chin toward the infirmary. "Talking with Judy."

John grabbed the pot of hot water on the kitchen counter and poured a cup in Penny's bowl, as he stirred. "Sit down, sweety," he told her as he put her tray on the table before striding across the hub.

"Would you want some coffee?" Harris asked as he passed by her.

Not in a mood for civilities, especially with her, John ignored the proposal and dashed out of the hub.

Once on the infirmary's doorstep, he threw his hands up in frustration.

"Hey! Why are you two hiding in here?"

Judy swivelled fast to face him. "We're not hiding."

"We're discussing," Maureen corrected.

"Discussing what?"

John let out a sigh as mother and daughter exchanged an embarrassed glance.

"Look, I don't appreciate having her sharing our everyday life but we don't have another option right now. So I suggest we stay casual and not let her presence bother us." John's eyes locked into Maureen's as he added: "And as you reminded me, that starts by having breakfast together."

He swung his arm to invite them to exit.

"You're right. I apologize," Maureen said as she passed.

John raised an eyebrow in surprise. Her excuse had come out way too fast not to feel suspicious. Maybe it wasn't about Harris. But who then? Ah. Mother-daughter stuff. Anyway, no matter the reason for their private chat, now was not the time.

A few minutes later, they were all sitting around the table in an awkward silence that only the jingling of spoons and forks on bowls and plates dared to disturb.

John rose to pour himself a third cup of coffee and sat back, trying to find a way to bring this unlikely team together. A metallic clash yanked him to his feet. In his peripheral vision, John saw Harris and Don crouching to pick up their respective tray.

"I'm so sorry," Harris stammered.

"No, I wasn't looking," Don replied.

A tray collision. Like in a busy cafeteria. That's all.

"John?"

Maureen's firm voice snapped John out of his torpor. He stared back at his wife, confused to see the worry in her eyes, until he realized that he was standing up.

"I'm going to prep the chariot. I want to explore a little further south today."

"Can I come with you?"

"I don't think–"

"Dad, please! Mom? Say yes. I'm bored to death here."

John stared at his son's pleading expression and changed his mind. Like him, Will needed to get away from the ship for a couple of hours. He glanced at Maureen, knowing she'd read his negative opinion on his face.

"Sure. Why not? Some fresh air will do both of you good."

Or not.

"Thanks! Dad?"

John finally nodded. "Go pack a light backpack with snacks."

As he made way for the arch door, eager to leave, he saw Judy leap to her feet. "Dad? Let me check your wound before you go."

"I've changed the dressing already. I'm fine." It wasn't exactly telling a lie since he hadn't provided a time frame in his statement.

"Did you disinfect it?"

"Yep. We'll be back before dark."

Then, setting his eyes straight front, he strode straight to the shaft and climbed down to the garage.

* * *

*SCUBA: Self-Contained Underwater Breathing Apparatus

*MRE: Meal, Ready-to-Eat


	2. Chapter 2

A Robinson Tale

Part II

The Storm

* * *

Chapter 2

A cloud of dust rose behind the chariot as John drove between hoodoos toward the rocky pinnacles rising at the south end of the plateau. He glanced at the forward view displayed on the central touchscreen, zoomed in on the natural barrier, and swept right and left. The slope appeared steep and craggy in places but nothing the chariot couldn't handle. Will's silence and detached gaze concerned him more. He'd seen that look too many times on his teammates' eyes after a mission and avoided noticing his in the mirror: Will's resilience was spreading thin.

A rush of guilt tightened his chest. He'd left a joyful eight-year-old boy playing baseball like each game was the World Series final pitch, and got back to a quiet eleven-year-old whose main hobby was reading.

John glanced at his son again.

"Hey, Will, why don't you try to find us a path up this rampart?"

John observed his boy leaning forward to reach the screen and examine the live video. After a couple of minutes, Will lay back in his seat and pointed to his window.

"There, on our right. It's less steep and there's a wide depression on top. We might be able to drive across."

"Let me see… Yep, seems good to me," John said, adding quickly: "So, what's on your mind?"

"Do you think he'll come back?"

John sighed. What else but the robot could eat away at his son's thoughts?

"I don't know, buddy. But we'll manage without him, don't worry."

John caught the slight twitch in Will's shoulders before the boy shot back:

"I'm not worried about him."

"You sure? Because you twisting your fingers together say you care a great deal what happened to it."

"Aren't you? Worried? About us, I mean."

"Yeah, I am. But there's no point letting the feeling drag you down. Look at the bright side. We're on a new planet; that means a whole new playground to discover. You like adventure, don't you?"

"I thought I did."

John's mouth opened and closed. He was at a loss to find the right words to cheer his son up because he'd have a hard time believing in them himself. As if the skies wanted to prove a point, a bolt of lightning exploded into the clouds.

"Can we get closer to the storm so I can film the lightning? The chariot is grounded so we're safe as long as we stay in it."

John's first reaction was to wince but he managed to transform it into a smirk. There was, after all, a good chance that it was just that: an unusual meteorological phenomenon. It might even be an effective way to entertain his geeky son.

"That's the spirit."

"Thanks. I promise I won't tell mom."

"Yeah. Like we can hide anything from her, anyway."

Will's laugh warmed John's heart. His son was still a kid.

After maneuvering the chariot up the slope and around rocks in a series of hairpin turns, John stopped it fifty feet from the top, at a spot where he could easily turn around if a quick escape was needed and behind a large boulder if such an escape wasn't possible.

"Why are we stopping?"

"Stay here. I want to check something first."

John grabbed his binoculars from the door storage, hopped outside, and headed straight for the crest. As he climbed further up, his fear that a war was raging faded: aside from a soft breeze and his raspy breath, the silence was total. However, as he wasn't one to take things for granted, John flattened on his belly in a hole between three huge rocks and crawled five feet to the edge of the crest, cursing between his teeth when he felt another stitch yield.

Pain and worry vanished at once.

The same desert landscape stretched as far as he could see. No city. No village. No bombardment. He waited a few minutes for the lightning to strike the dusty plain well over fifty miles away. And again, at the same spot, or so it seemed. Probably something in the geology of the planet rendered that specific place susceptible to lightning. It'd be interesting to investigate once the storm dissipated.

John was crawling out of his hole when a brief shimmering on his right stopped him dead. He crawled forward again, going further on his right, until he could step out of cover and take a better look at what was down. A lake!

A smile appeared on his face. A bad day had just turned more than good: it was miraculous.

However, practical matters chased away the thrill of the discovery. John scratched his neck as he scanned the slope between them and the waters. Much of the three-hundred-foot escarpment was fine but for one section that dived more than sixty degrees. He wouldn't take the chariot down and even by foot, it didn't leave too much of a margin of error: a lost misstep and Will would tumble down and smash his skull against one of many protruding rocks.

John crawled his way back and headed down, thinking that finally, Will's seriousness was a good thing after all. He was halfway to the chariot when his son's head suddenly appeared on the boulder right in front of him.

"So, what did you find?"

John refrained from scolding his boy. "Grab your backpack. We're going for a hike."

Will made a face at his suggestion. Here was the mopey teenager showing his nose again.

"Why can't we take the chariot?"

"Because abseiling is more fun," John said as he resumed his way to the chariot. "Besides, it looks like Point Mugu down there."

"Mugu? You mean there's an ocean on the other side?"

"More of a large lake."

"Fresh waters? But that's even better!"

John smiled as he watched Will's expression switch back to the lively kid he used to know. "Come one, let's go," he said, throwing Will his backpack before grabbing his own, ignoring the pain in his abdomen. This was too great an opportunity to bond back with his son to pass.

Half an hour later, John finished tying a makeshift harness around Will's thighs and waist as they stood above the steepest section of the rocky slope when he saw his boy turning pale.

"Don't worry. I won't let you fall."

"It's not that."

"What is it, then?"

The boy shrugged but offered no explanation. Ah. He was scared of heights and didn't want to admit it, John thought as a possible reason. "It's okay, Will. Everybody is afraid of heights to some extent."

"You don't understand."

John flinched at the sudden aggressiveness.

"Sorry… It's just the last time I stood on the edge of a cliff, I… I ordered the robot to walk off of it."

John winced. As far as he was concerned, his son had done what needed to be done. The robot was no pet and as Angela's radical action had proven, it was impossible to put down by conventional means.

"You did the right thing back then, Will," John said as he tugged one more time on the harness to make sure it was tight enough.

"I don't want to talk about it. I'm ready." The boy grabbed the rope in his hands and stepped closer to the cliff.

"Okay. Once you're down and your footing's secure, tug three times on the rope, alright? And give another three when you're out of the harness so I can coil back the rope."

Will nodded. "But you? How are you going to do to get down?"

"Don't worry about me. Come on, Will. It's more fun than linking VHF radio signals between Jupiters."

His son gave him one of Maureen's dubious but amused looks. "If you say so."

For the next ten minutes, John belayed Will while he half-skidded half-abseiled the obstacle.

"I'm down!"

As Will's voice echoed, John raised a worried glance at the top of the embarkment. He was berating himself for neglecting to remind his son this safety rule when he felt the series of three quick tugs in the rope. John relaxed his aching shoulders, recoiled the rope, and secured it around his backpack. Then, once Will had acknowledged the reception, he recoiled it a second time, passed it around his neck, and clenched his jaw as he started his way down.

Half an hour later, John lagged twenty feet behind Will when he saw the boy run down the last dozen yards and jump down on the sandy bank.

"Dammit. Will! Stop right here!"

To his relief, the boy skidded to a halt before he stepped into one of the few shorts, grassy patches that grew around the lake, and turned towards his father with an inquisitive look. John sighed. The last thing he needed after a tar pit was a quicksand pit.

"Are you okay?" his son asked when he finally joined him on the beach.

John rolled his shirt up at the waist and winced when he saw the bright red spot on his bandage.

"Judy won't be happy. You know she said she'd used bigger needles to stitch you up next time?"

"Yeah, I got the threat. Not much I can do about it right now," he said, dropping his backpack.

The soft breeze pushed the wavelets over his boots as he crouched down to dip his hand in the water. He rubbed his thumb against the tip of his fingers: no oily residue, no foul odour, sixty to sixty-five degrees. So far so good. John cupped a bit of water in his hands and sipped it. It was a bit salty and astringent, probably rich in minerals but as far as his taste buds could analyse, it was a neutral pH. Cautious, he waited a minute to check for any tingling or itchy sensation before drinking a mouthful.

"So, is it water?"

John cast a look above his shoulder and gave him a thumbs up. With a source of fresh water, their chances of survival had just increased considerably. John looked up to the storm. It seemed to have moved further away. Reassured that they wouldn't have to seek shelter, he let his hand trail into the more and more tempting water. After four days without a shower, his body's smell couldn't be ignored anymore.

"You want to take a swim?" he asked Will as he took off his shirt.

"You think it's safe?"

"Yeah. The water is clear. Come on, you need a bath too."

John dived, made a few strokes, turned on his back, and let himself float to the surface. His wound tingled but not enough to prevent him from relaxing. Keeping his head into the cool water to the ears, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"It's cold…"

"Give it a try."

After a few minutes, Will managed to get waist-deep but stopped, apparently reluctant to immerse himself.

"Do you need help?"

"No, no, thank you, no."

"You sure?" John asked, splashing water.

"Pretty sure."

As John turned his back to swim away, Will splashed into the lake and retaliated. A rush of joy warmed John's heart. He had his son back and a perfect opportunity to spend some quality time with him. "Do you want to jump?"

"From your shoulders? I don't know, I've put on some weight in three years, you know. I wouldn't want you to drown."

Though he noted the reproach, John chuckled at Will's cocky look. "Try me, shrimpy."

John dived as Will splashed more water at him.

Being immersed in fresh water boosted his morale. For the first time in years, he felt alive. Fifteen feet down, he cast a look up and saw his son's legs treading in a disorderly manner as the boy searched the surface for him. John smirked. That made one more valuable skill he could teach to his kid.

But before that, he'll teach him the importance to check blind spots.

After placing himself right under Will, John swam up fast, pulling with his arms until he reached his son's feet. Before the boy could react to the touch, he pushed him out of the waters.

A flash of pain made him regret his stunt. But when a burst of laughter and cries of joy echoed along the lake's surface, he viewed his discomfort as a small price to pay for all the fun.

"Can you do that again?"

"Sure."

Will was at his fifth jump when a dark shadow at the bottom of the lake caught John's eye and froze him. It didn't seem to be moving, and was probably only a rock from the cliff. Or, if they were lucky, he'd just found their dinner. John surfaced and swam back to the bank, pushing Will to get out as well despite his protests.

While his son drank from his water bottle, shivering in the light breeze, John crouched next to his backpack and retrieved his knife.

"What are you doing?" Will asked as he stepped back into the water.

"There's something down there I want to check. Maybe a large fish. Or just a rock. Want to bet?"

"I bet fish. For luck."

Will's thumb up was the last thing John saw before diving.


	3. Chapter 3

A Robinson Tale

Part II

The Storm

* * *

Chapter 3

Judy's sight blurred as she squinted at the diet plan she'd been working on for the last two hours.

Next to the ready-to-eat meals, they had seeds for hydroponic cultures and protein supplements like the first Mars colonists, but it was nowhere near enough to sustain five adults, a teenager and a pre-adolescent boy. What she was creating was a blueprint for a long agony.

She put her pad down on her lap and set her gaze on the wild landscape.

The desert was more than a jail without walls, without ceiling, without guards: it was a long death row.

She raised her eyes and scanned the arid horizon where the chariot had disappeared a few hours ago, wishing she could see through the ridge. The mix of white, grey and ocher layers that constituted the pinnacles stood out against the stormy sky, making for a stunning view that under other circumstances she'd have appreciated.

A lightning bolt struck in the distance. No hope of the sky clearing anytime soon.

Judy twisted on her chair to look in the opposite direction. The clouds were thinner but they still masked the two suns enough to prevent their solar panels from producing a sufficient level of energy. They could recharge their pads and solar lamps, but the seed incubator and growing station needed a hundred times more power.

At least, the serenity of the place wasn't lost on everybody. In the chair next to her, Penny had had fallen asleep at her reading.

Why couldn't she just enjoy the moment of peace and relax like her sister?

Five chairs, a fire-pit, a ship for recreational vehicle, and a quiet scenery: it was the Robinson's definition of a perfect vacation spot.

Judy exhaled deeply as she shifted on her chair to alleviate her growing back pain. Now she regretted that her mother had persuaded her to let her father and brother go on their own. The exploratory trip would have been a nice distraction. What lay beyond the rocky ridge could be their salvation.

Green prairies and lakes, forests and cascades, shrubs full of flamboyant and perfumed flowers and trees bending under an abundance of juicy fruits saturated with vitamins and fibers.

Don's cry yanked Judy back to her flat, dessicated reality.

Now what had the man done?

Annoyed and worried at the same time, she stood up and walked a few yards away from the Jupiter to get a view of the top of the ship.

Her mother and Don had been conducting inspections on the hull since morning, fixing minor fractures caused by either their forced travel through the vortex or during their fast descent into the planet's atmosphere.

"We'll need more isolating membrane and foam." Judy heard her mother say.

"I'll get it."

Judy cringed when Don jumped off the Jupiter.

"Really, Don? What is the ladder for?"

"What ladder?"

She rolled her eyes.

"Last thing I need is to treat a broken leg or a sprained ankle."

"Well, if you'd been crouching for hours like I have, you'd need to spread yourself out."

Judy sighed and dropped her arms in defeat while Don passed by her. He was a desperate case when it came to reckless stunts. Sooner or later, she'd have to stitch him back together. Until then, he'd do what he wanted no matter what she said.

A sudden gust of wind raised a cloud of dirt off the ground. Around the fire-pit, the chairs fell over and Penny woke up with a curse. Judy covered her eyes with her hand when her mother called for help.

"Coming!" Don said, rushing to the ladder. As he climbed aloft, he stopped to look at her. "Hey! Could you please find something inside for me?"

"What do you need?"

"Left corner, third row, case twelve: a roll of PYC membrane and two tubes of PPY foam. Thanks."

Judy climbed the garage access ramp, dusting herself off before taking out her flashlight to dispell the shadows swallowing the storage area.

A moment later, she was searching through the equipment for the roll of membrane when the hair on her neck stood up. Judy's fingers clenched on the PPY tube, swivelled on her heels, ready to defend herself.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," Harris said, raising her hands in front of her.

"Yeah, because sneaking on people from behind to knock them out isn't anything you'd normally do."

"I'm truly sorry about what I did, Judy. I am. For everything."

Harris's apology did not stir any sympathy. The woman was too manipulative and Judy had little trust in her words. Harris was like a rash: the best way not to scratch was not to look. Then again, she wasn't about to turn her back on this treacherous woman.

Judy moved aside to keep Harris in her peripheral vision.

"If you have a moment, I'd like to talk to you."

"What do you want?"

"I know you've been reviewing the crew's medical records the last couple of days. I understand that I'm not your priority right now but there's something I think you ought to know."

"What?"

"My medical file is incomplete."

"What do you mean incomplete?"

"Falsified might be a more precise term. You see, to get accepted in the colonist group, it was necessary to hide a few things."

Judy took a deep breath as she felt her patience wearing thin at Harris's evasiveness. "What kind of things?"

"Things like a history of bipolar and dissociative disorders."

Judy stared at Harris as she absorbed the implications. She wanted to yell at the older woman but instead made an effort to stay calm and professional.

"Are you kidding me? How in hell did you manage to hide this during the psychological evaluations?"

"I didn't. I couldn't."

"They flagged you. How did you get in then?"

"Is how important or even relevant? Ask your mother how she got your brother and father in. Last time I checked, PTSD was on the list of psychological disorders that barred anyone from the program."

Judy's nostrils flared at the insult that her parents had bought their place in the colony. For all her apparent tameness Harris could still show her teeth.

"Come on, Judy. Corruption isn't a necessary evil, it's a reality because there's no such thing as an equal and due process. And fairness? Fairness is an illusion created to keep the obedient sheep from rebelling against its pitiful condition. I'm no sheep. And as painful it is for me to admit, neither is your mother."

Harris chortled. "Don't worry. If you're lucky, in a few years you'll have seen and heard enough personal stories of success and failure to know how to survive in a system when it rejects you. That's called experience."

"And you're telling me this now why?"

"Isn't it obvious? I'm seeking medical treatment."

"Well you should have thought about this before cheating your way in. I have nothing to treat a complex disorder such as yours."

"Even if only to help adjust the colonist to their new life, you must have included mild anxiolytics in your pharmacy. I have developed relaxing techniques over the years to help me keep it together when I feel myself drifting. But the constant life or death situation we live is causing more stress than I can keep up with. I need to unwind, and for everyone's good, I need to do it in an orderly, socially acceptable manner."

_Yeah, that would be preferable._ Judy sighed and nodded. "Let me see. In the meantime, could you bring this to Don and my mother?"

"Sure, whatever I can do to help. Thank you, Judy."

Judy stared into Harris' eyes as she handed her the equipment. Trusting her again was not easy, even for a simple task. But having her on her tail in the dark ship was creeping the hell out of her. Judy waited for Harris to clear the ramp before climbing the ladder to the main deck.

A couple of minutes later, she jumped the ladder's last three bars and landed in a feline poise in the dark garage. Guilt cut in on the satisfaction of working her muscles. She'd never thought that she'd be the "do what I say, not what I do" kind of doctor, but she had to admit that it felt good to stretch her legs a little.

Her smile vanished as she caught sight of Harris sitting on top of the garage access ramp. The woman stood up and turned on her heels, demonstrating an acute awareness of her surroundings that chilled Judy's blood. Harris behaved like a predator.

Not for very long.

"Here."

Judy handed to her two bottles containing pills. "Mazepine will help with the anxiety and Hydroxyzine–"

"Will help me sleep at night. Thank you, Judy."

"I'm just doing my job. Side effects are listed in the database."

"Sedation, postural hypotension, cardiac arrhythmia, suicidal thoughts... I've gone through all possible treatments. I know the tradeoffs and I'll keep you inform if any adverse symptom appear."

A lump tightened Judy's throat.

"As refills are impossible, you might want to stretch these."

"Sure. Thanks again."

Eager to get out of the suddenly claustrophobic garage, Judy passed by Harris when the woman grabbed her arm. Judy felt all her muscles tense at once and Harris must have felt it too because she let her go as if she'd burnt herself.

"Please, Judy, this stays between us, doesn't it?"

Judy swallowed hard. "Doctor-patient confidentiality."

"Thanks. I knew you were a professional."

Something in Harris's eyes as she said these words brought Judy close to lose her self-control. She was done with her false flattery and devious insinuation. But knowing the woman would have the last word no matter what she replied to this insult, she nodded sharply and strode down the ramp.

"What did she want?" her sister asked as Judy picked up her pad and slumped into her chair.

"Nothing important. Are mom and Don still up there?"

"Yep. They're working fine together, finally."

"What did you expect?"

"Don flying out of the hull? You know how his chatty habit is getting under mom's skin."

"He's talking a lot, all right, but maybe it's us who are being too serious."

"Serious, dull, depressing, uninteresting. Welcome to the Robinson family."

"You're exaggerating. Like always."

"No, I'm not. When was the last time we all shared a genuine good laugh? Before we left Earth?"

Judy opened her mouth, tilted her head as she scanned her memory, and closed her mouth.

"See?" Penny said. "I don't remember either."

Judy let out a deep sigh. Her sister had a point about their family being too tense, and as irritating it was to admit, so did Harris about her father. His reaction this morning when Don had dropped his tray had betrayed how edgy he was under his apparent calm.

After checking the time on her pad, Judy raised her gaze toward the horizon, searching for a cloud of dust rising from the ground.

"It's getting late. Where are they?" she wondered outloud.

"You know dad. He's probably having fun climbing that ridge over there."

"He better not be. I told him not to exert himself."

"Well, SEALs might not have the same definition of the word as timorous doctors."

"Hey! I'm not timorous."

"But you're no SEAL either."

"I should have gone with them."

Worried, Judy pulled up her father's medical record. Despite what Harris had claimed, hers was the only one that she had thoroughly reviewed, especially the psychological section. She hadn't found anything, but now, she knew why.

"I'm glad I didn't. I abhor climbing."

"You're scared of heights, not the same thing."

Her mood sunk deeper when she saw miles of entries in his file. She switched the sort-by-date filter to get them sorted by types of reports and scanned for the psychological evaluations section.

"Same thing to me," Penny said.

Judy rolled her eyes and shook her head. Her sister was lying to herself but as she had a more pressing issue at hand than Penny's refusal to face her inconsistencies, she decided to let it go and opened the first file that dated from before she was born, before he even knew her mother. That was the definition of awkward she thought as, after a quick calculation, she realized that he was the same age as she was now. Fresh out of highschool and already in the army.

In the search box, she wrote PTSD and clicked on "find". No occurrence found appeared. She opened the second file and repeated the maneuver with the same result, and again, and again on all thirty-eight files.

God damn Harris! Judy leaned back in her chair, uncertain how to feel.

Like dissociative personality disorder, PTSD would have indeed barred anyone from boarding the Resolute. Therefore, not finding the fateful acronym in her father's file was not proof that he didn't or hadn't suffered from it at some point in his career, especially since post traumatic stress disorder was for soldiers as much an occupational hazard as back pain was for office workers.

Judy's suspicion grew as she recalled the talk with her father in the garage the day after she'd almost died in the ice. He'd come forward to offer help while she coped with the traumatic experience, sharing that he knew what fear of an imminent death did to one's body and mind. So the question was: was he relating to a personal experience?

Hoping to find a clue elsewhere in his records, Judy closed the psychological files and returned into the main screen to sort his files by type of injuries.

Judy slouched deeper and deeper into her seat as she stared at the table listing in alphabetical order the categories of injuries and the number of incidents.

Four animal attacks/bites; twelve blasts; forty-six blunt traumas; eight penetrating traumas; six brain injuries; five broken/fractured bones; two burns; one dislocation; four DCI*.

Unfamiliar with the acronym, Judy paused as the list went on and on and clicked on the category. Four files appeared. The most recent one dated from five years ago. Judy opened it and felt the blood draining out of her face. The name of the hospital where he'd been treated was redacted. What wasn't was the length of his stay in ICU: three weeks.

When she realized she was mouthing the words out of shock, she bit her lips.

"What?" Penny asked.

"Nothing."

"Yeah, right. Your forehead looks like you're an eighty-year-old grandma for nothing. Must be a painful spasm. What are you reading?"

"What are you reading?"

"The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. I wanted to remind myself what it is to have a normal summer as a kid."

"Like he was an example, always running into trouble."

"But he had a home to go back to every night and friends to hang out with."

As Penny talked, Judy noticed her sister stretching her turtle neck toward her. Judy flipped the pad on her lap but her sister shot her hand to grab it. Yanking the pad out of Penny's reach, Judy leaped to her feet and sat down across the fire-pit, glaring at her sister.

"Curiosity killed the cat."

Penny scoffed. "Boredom will be my demise."

While her sister resumed her reading, Judy set her eyes on the horizon anew, searching through memories of her senior year for clues of his accident. She came back blank.

Her mother had been engrossed in her new position of technical lead at JPL. They all had kept busy schedules between work, school, activities, community service.

Upset, she stood up and shuffled back to the garage to be alone to think.

What use was her perfect eidetic memory if she couldn't remember anything particular about him that year?

She sat on one of the treadmills and stared again at his file. Arterial gas embolism. Lung barotrauma. None of these were visible wounds.

She checked his date of admission again in his file to confirm the time frame. Her chest tightened and tears blurred her vision. She remembered now. It was a Sunday. Her mom had dragged her reluctant siblings on the soccer fields all weekend. Her team had won first place. They were celebrating like they'd won the World Cup. Somewhere on the planet, a medical staff was intubating her father.

Judy drew a shallow breath.

Without a quick access to competent doctors and a hyperbar chamber, he would have died.

He had pulled through. He was alive. That was all that mattered.

A shudder ran down her spine and her jaw trembled.

He'd come home for a whole month after Spring break, while their mother was in Texas for work. She kept on travelling between Pasadena and Houston that year and they kept on missing each other.

Judy focused on the memory of that period.

He would drive Will and her to the park for baseball and soccer and stayed there until their practices ended, walking around the fields. Walking. Not running. Walking. She closed her eyes as it made sense now. He was in recovery.

But how could she have known then? She wasn't trained yet to assess people's health at a glance. And he'd never said a word about his accident.

Okay, so the next time he'd go for a walk instead of a jog, she'd pay more attention to him. She probably didn't have to worry too much about a diving accident in the near future. Which was a good thing because she wasn't qualified in hyperbaric medecine.

But why had he brought his diving suit if he couldn't use it? Saying that she didn't want him to tip a toe in water would be an over-reaction but at the very least, other than snorkeling, diving was out of question for him.

Judy felt a pang to her heart. She knew how much her father enjoyed the activity. Next to climbing, it was his passion. Heck, her parents had gone diving off the coast of Italy for their honeymoon. The life-altering diagnostic must have hit him like a ton of bricks, it was like amputating a dolphin's flipper.

Oh my... Judy's eyes grew wide. His diving suit was a ghost limb. And that kind of trauma could very well be the underlying cause of a PTSD.

Judy glanced up at the ceiling. Did her mother know?

* * *

DCI: Decompression Illness


	4. Chapter 4

A Robinson Tale

Part II

The Storm

* * *

Chapter 4

John gave a final stroke and broke the surface of the lake.

"Got him!" he gasped, expelling the last molecules of oxygen out of his lungs before filling them with fresh air.

"Five minutes fifty-eight seconds! Will you teach me how to free dive one day?"

John winced as he pivoted, still waist deep in the lake, and pulled on the rope to hoist the robot up. "Water's a bit cold here. If we find a warmer pond, we'll see then."

The wide wingspan of the robot with his four arms resisted at first. John braced himself on firmer ground, anchored his feet and pulled again while Will stepped into the water to join the effort.

After a few minutes of cooperative work, the dark head appeared, globular and sleek like a gigantic, black pearl before the body skidded and anchored itself on the sandy slope. When John's efforts to unblock it failed, he left the rope in Will's hands and stepped back into the water to haul the robot out of the lake by hand. A thought stopped him dead. Now would be an awful time for the artificial intelligence to wake up and panic. He glanced at his son.

"Will, back away a yard or two."

Glad that his son obeyed without a word, John grabbed the robot by the armpits and dragged it back to the shore. The painful effort cut his breath but he clenched his jaw and kept on moving until the world spun in front of his eyes. John dropped the robot in the shallow water and sat down to collect himself.

Will crouched next to him. "Your side. It's bleeding again."

John glanced at the red stain on the gauze wrapped around his belly and winced. After pranking a doctor, the next worst idea was pissing one off. Well, all in good time. First, he had to drag the damn robot back to the chariot.

He was pushing on his knees to stand up when his ears started ringing and the bitter taste of bile invaded his mouth. John sat back down quickly and cursed through his teeth. He couldn't have the bends, he was free diving for God's sake!

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Inner ear pressure. It'll adjust in a few minutes." He rested his head between his knees, letting the cool water splash on his face to stay alert. After a moment, his blood stopped pounding in his temples. A quick look at his watch confirmed that his heart rate was back to normal.

John took a last deep breath and relaxed his shoulders and neck. "Hey, Will. Could you pass me my backpack, please?"

"Sure."

While his son walked away to grab him his bag, John dragged himself out of the lake, sat on his heels, and looked up at the next obstacle course.

Back in SEALs' boot camp, he'd carried, arm-extended, three-hundred-twenty-pound rubber raiding rafts all around the base for a week, miles after miles until he'd thought his arms would snap like dry wood. After that, how hard could it be to carry that synthetic body for a few hundred feet? Of course, back in boot camp he'd been one of twelve sharing the load. Maybe he should come back the next day with Don?

John scanned the location anew and shook his head as cons popped up one after the other: there was no other easy access to this part of the lake, his wound wouldn't be any less painful tomorrow, the new stitches wouldn't hold any better, being stitched over and over sucked, and last but not least, Judy and Maureen. No doubt they would try to talk him out of it, which might cause a problem because there was no way he was risking any of them breaking their neck on this treacherous slope.

On the other hand, if he brought the robot back to the Jupiter tonight, Maureen might be able to reactivate him and restore power to the ship. That would mean having ventilation back, a more well-disposed crew, and, last but not least, a hot shower.

Pain today for relaxation tomorrow. It was an easy choice. Anyway, he had put on a little weight in the last few years. This bit of exercise could start his fitness program.

As Will was joining him back with his bag and his clothes, John stood up. The world spun in front of his eyes but the bout of dizziness was less intense this time and he managed to stay on his feet until he felt better. Clenching his jaw, he put on his pants and shirt, sitting down again for his socks and boots because his balance was still a bit off.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah. Don't worry," he said, hoping that his weakness was nothing a powerbar and a couple of painkillers wouldn't relieve.

"Why do you always tell me that?"

John frowned, confused by his son's obvious distress. "Tell what?" he asked as he retrieved the high-calorie bar from one of the side pockets of his bag. He handed it to his son but Will ignored him.

"I'm tired to be said not to worry when there's a good reason to worry. I'm not five anymore in case you haven't noticed."

"It's not a question of age, Will," he said, although looking at his son he could only think of how very young he was.

John paused to consider his next words. Will's worries should range from math tests to the next baseball game, nothing more serious than a school bully. It had been for him when he was eleven. Survival hadn't been anywhere in the picture, unless he counted tornadoes.

Thinking about the extreme weather that afflicted his Kansas home town, John glanced at the storm and was relieved to see that it was still far away. Actually, the sky right over the ridge seemed clearer. He wished he could say the same for Will's mood.

"I get that we are in a tight spot, and that it's likely to get worse before it gets better, if it gets better, and there's no certainty we'll ever reach the colony. So don't tell me not to worry because that's total bullshit and you know it."

John's eyebrows shot up, not because of the curse that had flown out of his son's smooth-faced mouth, but because Will had laid down the truth.

He drilled into Will's eyes like his old man had done to him an eternity ago, a dead serious stare that had caused his hands to clench into fists at the time before his father had done something he'd never expected him to do: he'd burst out laughing and grabbed him by the shoulder. He'd had his first beer with him behind the barn later that afternoon.

He'd been eighteen at the time but it felt like yesterday.

As Will turned his back and walked to the robot's side, John watched him, unable to utter a word.

The memory of the father-approved transgression and the endless crop fields stretching at their feet while they drank in silence filled him with a peaceful joy that warmed his heart. For him, the importance of the moment had been overshadowed in the turmoil and thrill of leaving the nest. His sister had spent the whole time reproaching him: he wouldn't last a day in boot camp, she'd said. He was wasting his money. He should spare himself the humiliation. It had gone on and on. The low point was when she'd dumped a bucket of ice on him at 4 a.m., or perhaps when she'd slapped him in the face as they said their goodbyes at the bus stop. After that scene in the middle of the street, nothing his instructors invented to make his life a living hell was enough to make him give in. He'd gone through the torture of SEAL selection just to prove his sister wrong, and god dammit she knew it.

He remembered the pride in their eyes at his graduation, and again four years later when he got his combat-diver certification and was officially integrated into a team.

John's eyes burnt and he looked away to wipe the tears before turning back and watch Will standing next to the robot, genuinely concerned as he inspected his alien, synthetic friend from every angle. No, he hadn't reached that milestone yet with his son, but something had definitely changed.

"You're right, Will."

His boy looked up at him and nodded. The new rules of their relationship had been accepted, and this was one day both of them would remember for the rest of their lives.

A sudden perplexity furrowed John's brow. He didn't remember a similar defining moment with Penny or Judy.

Sure, Penny gave him lip, but it wasn't the same thing. She was always careful to check afterward that he wasn't angry at her, anxious to lose his love for saying the wrong thing. She was testing their bond, not setting boundaries. Maybe she just wanted to feel protected in this turmoil. He couldn't blame her for looking at him to feel safe. If only her mother could do the same. John shook his head. Heck, no. Maureen had never been that kind of girl.

As for Judy, she was resentful about those three years and didn't miss an opportunity to let him know, but like Penny, her rejection was a test to see if he truly loved her. That was one more thing he'd have to talk over with Maureen.

Feeling his thoughts being carried away in a stream, John stashed them in a corner of his mind for later and retrieved two tablets of fast-acting painkiller from his med-kit, washed them down with water from the lake, and joined Will next to the robot to live this moment with him.

"So, did you figure out what happened to him?"

"He doesn't seem injured, I mean damaged. It looks like his battery just ran out."

"Did you check for a switch?"

Will gave him a condescending look that could have come straight off his mother's face. "I doubt there's one."

"Well, don't–" John stopped himself. "If someone can fix him, it's you and your mom. You're the best engineering team I know of in any galaxy."

John ruffled Will's hair. The boy laughed and dodged his hand before digging into his backpack and pulling out two MREs.

"Which one do you prefer: meatballs and pasta or chicken and rice?"

"Take whichever you want. I'll just have a powerbar."

While Will finished his ration, John emptied his bottle on the shore and filled it with lake water for analysis. Then, he put on his backpack, grabbed the rope that was still tied under the robot's four armpits and placed it against his shoulder sling.

"Team effort, hey? Ready?" he said, amused to see Will already reaching for the robot's giant feet.

"Let's get him back," Will replied with a smile.

"One, two, three, heave."

The night was pitch black long before the weak, yellow flames rising from the fire-pit appeared in the distance, a beacon of light guiding them back to the Jupiter. Though he suspected that the atmosphere would be tense, John restrained himself from stepping on the accelerator. Everyone would liven up as soon as they'd see their catch of the day. There was no need to shake Will awake to gain a few seconds.

Fifteen minutes later, John stopped the chariot, turned off the searchlights, and touched his son's shoulder.

"Wake up, buddy. We're home."

While the boy stretched his arms, John opened his door and stepped out, glad to unfold his legs and shift the pain that still cut through his ribcage despite the pills.

"Sorry for the delay," he said, bracing himself for Penny's hug when he saw her rushing toward him. Oh, dammit. John winced as he kissed her head and broke off the embrace.

In the weak halo of light the fire provided, he noticed that Maureen was still sitting on her chair, staring straight in the opposite direction. No danger of a painful hug there, he thought bitterly when Don interrupted by clapping his hands.

"See, I told you they'd be back alive and in one piece." The mechanic leaned toward him as he passed by, patted his shoulder, and added: "My couch is your couch, mate."

"Wait a sec," John said, raising a hand to halt him as he turned away.

"You don't have a couch," Penny said. "You're sleeping between crates."

"Well, my crates are your crates then."

"You're welcome to sleep in the infirmary after I check how many stitches you tore."

"What stitches?" The words flew out of John's mouth before he could filter. He winced and looked away, feeling Judy's burning gaze on his neck.

"Infirmary. Now."

"It can wait tomorrow, Jude. I'm fine."

"It's not your call to make. It's mine."

John raised an eyebrow, stunned by the firm tone. "Look, Jude–"

"Hey, guys!" Will interrupted. "Guess what we found?"

"Not now, Will," Judy said as the boy lifted his flashlight toward the chariot's roof.

Three other beams shot up. John squinted as two got in his eyes.

"That's why we're late," he said, blinking to get his vision back while Judy's attention shifted away.

"Where did you find him?" Penny asked.

"Near a lake," John said fast as Will opened his mouth.

John sent a quick pleading glance at his son not to add anything. There was still a chance his sister hadn't read his medical file thoroughly and would only give him hell for lifting the robot on the roof.

"Doesn't matter. What does is that you stop... wait! Did you say a lake?" Judy asked.

"You found water? Behind that ridge?"

John turned toward Maureen who had joined them. Her voice, like her eyes, was full of incredulity which was at least better than anger.

"Told you it's always worth exploring beyond the horizon," John said as he leaned inside the chariot and grabbed his backpack. "I would have brought you back flowers to make it up to you for being late, but there weren't any, and I guessed you'd prefer this instead, anyway."

Maureen caught the bottle with a gasp. John smiled, glad to see disbelief morphing into surprise and a timid smile lifting the corners of her mouth as she opened the cap, poured a little in her hand and raised it to her lips.

"How large is this lake?" she asked.

"Twenty, maybe thirty square miles. The water is a bit heavy on minerals but it's good."

Her head tilted. "Tell me you used a filter before drinking of it."

John shrugged. "There's no source of biological contamination or pollution anywhere near it," he said as he stepped up on the chariot's floor and began untying the straps securing the robot to the roof. "But if it makes you feel better, we'll boil until we can do a proper analysis. Hey, Don! Want to give me a hand taking our friend down here?"

"I'd prefer," Maureen said.

He was about to get to work when Judy grabbed his hand in a firm grip.

"Dad? What the hell do you think you're doing?"

John glanced over his shoulder. "What?"

"We'll take care of the robot," Judy said.

John sent a pleading glance to Maureen, but she shrugged and took his place. "If I recall correctly, doctor's orders take precedence, don't they?"

If even his wife was against him... John dropped his head. "Fine."

He jumped down from the chariot, earning himself two audible sighs, and a flash of pain that made him clench his jaw tight to keep from groaning.

"You go ahead, dad. I'll join you in a minute," Judy said.

"Where?"

"The infirmary."

Enough already. John lowered his eyes at his feet as he kept himself from snapping back. His daughter's concern was understandable. But it wasn't his first bullet wound and knew there was no emergency. No, he wasn't going to say that. Between him and the infirmary there was a thirty-degree ramp and a ninety-degree-ladder. No, he wasn't going to say that either. "I'll go later, okay? For now, I'd rather enjoy the fire while it still burns."

"Okay," Judy conceded before mumbling something about a mountain that John didn't hear perfectly as he shuffled toward the firepit.

He grabbed the crossbar, rearranged the slow-burning leaves, added a few more and straightened up using the bar as a support before slumping into the nearest chair with a footrest.

The waving flames provided a welcome warmth in the cooling air.

His sight blurred and he felt himself falling asleep when a hand gently squeezed his left shoulder. The smell of warm food penetrated his nostrils as Maureen slid a meal in his hands before sitting in the chair on his left.

"Will said you didn't eat all day."

"Wasn't hungry. But I am now. Thanks," he said as Judy kneeled on his right side and rolled up his shirt.

John cringed as she blinded him with a flashlight before lowering the beam on his wound.

"Hmm. You did this bandage yourself?" she asked as she delicately lifted the sides to get a look at the damage.

"Believe it or not, but we do have first aid training before we're let loose on the battlefield."

"Looks okay for now but where did you get those dressings? There aren't sold to the public."

"I have my own reserve. So, can it wait tomorrow morning?"

Judy replaced the bandage and pressed on the adhesive sides. "Sorry I snapped at you, dad," she said, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek like she used to do as a child. "Hey?!"

"What?" Penny said with a shrug as she slipped in the chair just as Judy was about to sit in. "Who wants to play?" she then asked with a devilish grin, showing the deck of cards in her hand.

"Maybe not tonight, honey," Maureen said while he watched Judy flop in the chair across him with a pout.

"No, It's fine. I'm glad to play." John suppressed a yawn as he leaned forward to take the cards. But when pain froze him, he said. "Err... I'll let you deal."

A minute later, he stared at his hand: Two fours, six of spades, queen and nine of diamonds, Jack and ten of hearts. "Whose turn is it to begin?"

"Mine," Judy said. "Do you have any threes?"

John shook his head. "Go fish."

He chuckled. That was exactly what he was going to do tomorrow, or in a couple of days, when his side would be less painful. There ought to be some life in the lake and with a source of water and food, life could become nice out there. He'd take the inflatable out of storage and go boating with the kids if they got bored while Maureen and Don found a way to fix the robot or contact the Resolute. No matter where they were, he wanted to think that rescue was on its way.

On their sixth turn, Will handed his nine of spades to Judy who let out a cry of joy.

"Fourth win in a row? Nobody can be so lucky. You're cheating," Penny said with a suspicious glare.

"A struck of good luck can happen to anybody. Is there a casino on that lake? I feel like it's my night."

John frowned. Since when was Judy eager to party?

"You're underage," Penny said to her sister.

"No, I'm not."

"It's twenty-one, not eighteen to get in a casino."

"How do you know?"

"It's twenty-one for legal institutions," Don said.

Judy pouted and shrugged. "Anyway, if there are casinos here, chances are they don't have the same age policy as on Earth. Maybe they don't have any restrictions at all."

"Let's play second place, shall we?" Will said. "Dad?"

"I'm fine with that," John replied, too glad that a semblance of normality brought the family together to be a killjoy. But as they resumed the game, his eyes closed and his world shrunk to their voices.

"Do you have any twos, Penny?" Will asked.

"Places without restriction are usually illegal no matter the galaxy," Penny said, "Go fish, Will."

"Even illegal places have restrictions," Don said, "Like no cops."

"Because you would know," Penny replied. "Fives, anyone? Dad?"

A slight squeeze on his knee jolted him awake. John straightened up in his chair with a wince. "Five? Nope. Go fish. Do you have any fours?" he asked Maureen.

"Go to bed, John."

"Nah, I'm good. So, fours?"

Maureen handed him a four of hearts.

He chuckled. "See? You're not going to get rid of me that easily tonight."

When he caught sight of the spark in Maureen's eyes, John grabbed her left hand and kissed it lightly. In the brief glance they exchanged, the desire that burnt in her pupils electrified his senses.

Don sprang to his feet. "Okay, kids. Time to go to bed. Give me all your cards, please."

From the corner of the eye, John watched his kids' reactions as the mechanic collected the cards. All three looked very disgruntled, much to his amusement.

"Hey, guys, I mean it. It's late. Don't you have school tomorrow? Late homework? Tests to prepare for? So be good kids and say goodnight to mommy and daddy."

To John's surprise, Penny was the first to comply and get up to kiss them. "Good night, sweety," Maureen said as Will followed, biting his cheeks to keep his face serious.

"I'll check that they brush their teeth, don't worry. Have fun. But not too much. You've got a doctor's appointment tomorrow, right Doctor Robinson? I'll drag him in if necessary so rest assured, you can leave now and sleep soundly. He's in good hands. And you can trust your mother to call you if anything happens that shouldn't happen. Well, maybe not anything but you understand what I mean."

When Maureen shifted on her chair and looked away in prudish embarrassment, tears burnt John's eyes as he kept from bursting into a well needed laugh to spare his wounded abdomen painful jolts.

"Shut up, Don," Judy said as she finally stood up to wish them a good night.

The mechanic clapped his hands.

"I guess I don't need to rearrange my crates for tonight. Good. They're heavy and I could have hurt my back," he said before turning toward Judy. "Did I tell you I injured my back? You have to add this to my medical record. L3 to L6 displacement. Only two degrees left but as painful as if an ice pick had dug into my spine. Do we have Eucalyptus oil?"

"I'll check," Judy replied.

"Is he trying to get to Judy…" Maureen said, unable to complete her thought.

"I think he's trying to get her to leave us alone by making an ass of himself. See? It's working. She's the one to drag him away now. He'd made a good sitter, don't you think?"

"I'm not sure."

"Ten bucks he'll wake up with a feather taped to his nose tomorrow," John said, trying to get Maureen's attention back by jogging her memory about an unsolved mystery.

"A feather? Like the prankster all those years ago?"

John gave her hand a gentle squeeze as he nodded.

"Where would the kids find a feather here? There are no birds," she asked as she brought her chair closer to his and leaned her head against his shoulder.

John tightened his arm around her and put his head against hers. Despite his desire, he felt like his energy was being sucked into a black hole. What a shame! The one time Maureen and he could share a nice, relaxed moment together around a fire. He wanted this to last through the night and feel the warmth of her body against his.

"I bet Penny kept hers in her souvenir box," he said, fighting off sleepiness. "I don't know from where she gets her habit of collecting ordinary things."

"It could be from my side."

"No. You're not that sentimental."

"I kept my feather. And yours too."

John raised an eye and stared at his wife. "Who are you? What have you done with my wife?"

Maureen's cheerful expression suddenly vanished. She pulled away and stared into the flames. "To be honest, I didn't intend to keep them at first. But you left a few days later for that damned mission. The four-months-without-a-phone-call one, remember?"

"Arh yeah. I remember. We busted a lot of drug traffickers in Central America during those years."

"There were rumors at the base that one of our teams had been involved in that massacre in Nicaragua."

John shifted in his seat with a grunt. Silence fell and Maureen's fingers slipped between his. He tightened his grasp on them: no escape this time.

"The civilians were already dead when we moved into the village. The local cartel boss had discovered there was a mole. He had every child, woman, elder... all of them, killed in retaliation, and arranged everything to make it look like we did it. A drug bust gone wrong, casualties in the population... war crime. Peterson shipped us to a black site in Uganda to outwait the media storm while they put the truth to light. That's where we were for four months, reassigned to the fight against a resurgence of terrorist factions in the region."

"Is Uganda in the Middle-East?"

John grinned, albeit bitterly. Maureen could find her way in the Milky Way, but Earth's geography wasn't her strong suit.

"Africa," he said before taking a deep breath as the memory of this time resurfaced. Uganda was everything this planet wasn't: a dense green sponge. Forests and rivers and rain, lots of rain. And nothing to do but watch it fall.

His eyes stared through the flames as he recalled the half dozen times during their four month exile in the thickest tropical jungle on Earth he'd had to pin one of his men to a moss-covered wall to knock some sense of duty into them. It hadn't been easy, not by a long shot, but he'd kept the team together back then. And so he would now.

John pushed the unpleasant memory back at the bottom of the To-Forget box. "So, did you finally find who the mystery feather prankster was?"

"It was Will. Don't you recall how impish he was at that age?"

"A true leprechaun. But it wasn't him."

"Yes, it was. I found the same feathers in his class the next day when I picked him up from kindergarten for his pediatrician's appointment."

John opened his mouth, then shut it and switched back to watch the fire.

"What? If you have something to say, say it," his wife said, nudging him in the ribs.

"Ouch, my stitches!"

"They are on the other side. If it wasn't Will, who was it?"

John chuckled as he offered her a clue. "It was in March. Dad's job month."

"I remember that. Willl was so happy you'd agreed to talk to his class about what you do. All the other fathers were dentists or cardiologists, endocrinologists… he said to his teacher that you were a combat divist."

John's smile widened at that particular memory. "Yeah. That was a fancy place that PK Academy you got him in."

"Fancy? Really?"

"Just a tad."

"Anyway, stop throwing me off. I remember that day as if it were yesterday because I had to drive an extremely disappointed three-year-old boy during rush hour since you'd left after Sergeant Hicks called you in."

"Yeah, he called. And you're the one who said it: Will was very impish at that age."

John flexed his legs on the footrest and, despite the pain of the stretch, pulled his arms back to rest his head in his hands.

"You've got to be kidding me. Will never said you went. And the kids, they were laughing just above you while you took your nap in the hammock with that thing taped to your nose. You said you thought it was the most annoying fly in the world."

"Damn annoying, you're right."

Maureen burst into laughter when he waved his hand in front of his face, chasing an imaginary fly away.

John closed his eyes to relish this first and uncontestable victory over his wife's skills of deduction while she nestled her head deeper into his shoulder. Her presence and the fire combined to help him relax. Numbness engulfed him again, and this time he surrendered to it with pleasure. His breathing slowed and deepened. He felt Maureen's lips pressing against his, her hand stroking his unshaven face, then nothing.

* * *

Harris crouched down in the garage as Maureen stood up from her chair and walked back to the Jupiter. The crackle of her boots on the rocky ground stopped near the ladder leading to the main deck. Harris counted to ten before moving out of the darkness.

On top of the ramp, Harris's piercing eyes slid from John, sitting alone and vulnerable to the dark spot where the robot lay, inert.

Her decision to talk John out of his psychotic, suicidal crisis, on the bet that his survival skills would prove useful had paid off sooner than she'd anticipated. She wondered what he remembered from that dreadful moment. Probably nothing, but she wasn't one-hundred percent sure. His behavior toward her was unemotional, like she was invisible, just furniture in the room. But that didn't matter. She'd expected this ostracism and was fine with it, better that than being adopted like a stray dog like Don.

She heard feet climbing down the ladder and went still.

Harris' lips curled in aversion as she watched Maureen head back to the fire with a blanket, spread it over her husband, and cuddle against him.

Against all odds, their marriage was on the mend. She wouldn't have bet a penny on this: his career had caused too much anger, too much mistrust, too much pain. But they weren't on Earth or safe in the colony. On this perilous journey, Maureen needed her husband to be the strong man she'd fallen in love with.

Harris smirked.

If anything, the result of her breakfast experiment had shown that John's calmness was an illusion. And she had just begun to scratch his surface.


	5. Chapter 5

A Robinson Tale

Part II

The Storm

* * *

Chapter 5

The air smelled like dark roast coffee and coconut.

A soft and cold pressure on his cheeks prompted John to open his eyes. He stared in confusion at Maureen's silhouette. Her blond hair glistened red under the golden sun. This had to be a dream. As she applied sunscreen on his face, he gently grabbed her hand and kissed it.

"Hey, how do you feel this morning?"

Her voice was too soft to be real. John straightened up and hissed. The pain felt real enough. "Like someone who slept in a chair. Am I sunburnt?"

"I saved you in time."

"Thanks." John raised a hand to rub his eyes and flinched as his fingers hit his sunglasses. "What the..."

John pulled the sunglasses on top of his head and blinked. The sky was a stunning deep indigo blue and the two suns shining as one giant fireball scorched the surface. John pulled back the sunglasses over his eyes with a grunt.

"Here. That might help you feel better." She handed him a thermos mug and sat down on the chair next to him. "You'll be glad to learn the solar panels have been charging for three hours, meaning you have hot water for a shower. That is, if you can walk by the infirmary discreetly."

John's lips curved up as he considered the tempting proposition and the sneaky advice. A hot shower would be nice indeed, especially if she joined him, assuming of course that he could stand up in the first place, which he didn't think was on the table just now. Maybe after his coffee. "Do we have com and sensors back online?"

"For the most part. But unfortunately, there's something in the atmosphere that bounces our signals back."

"So no news from the Resolute then."

Maureen shook her head. "I'm still running diagnostics on the anomaly that pulled us away. For now, there's no way to determine if they've been pulled as well."

"What about the signal we received?"

Maureen shook her head. "It's too much scrambled."

"Dad?!"

John slouched further into his chair with a wince that wasn't caused by pain. Ten minutes to drink his coffee and enjoy life, was it too much to ask?

"What is it, Judy?" Maureen asked as their daughter joined them around the firepit that was about to burst into a hot spot.

"He didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"He didn't find the robot near a lake. He found it at the bottom."

John raised his eyes to the sky. Oh, God, why now, when everything was going so fine with her mother? "Hey, Jude. Patient-doctor confidentiality, please?"

"You kidding me? Trillions of light years away from Earth? No hospital, no specialists, no medical equipment to treat you, and you think it wise to throw ethical considerations in my face?!"

"John? What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Judy's overreacting."

"I'm overreacting? That's your defense? I'll tell you what's wrong: he's forbidden to dive!"

"No, that's not entirely true. I lost my combat-diver certification. Two different things." John closed his eyes. What had he just said?

"You're barred from diving?" Maureen asked. "Why?"

"No, I'm not barred. Well, yes, in a certain way, I am." John clenched his jaw and slouched deeper in his chair before straightening up. "Look, you only can do this job for so long before you know, you get one too many close calls and the risks of developing decompression sickness become high enough that it could put a mission in jeopardy, so you're out of the game. That's all."

"No, it's not all. And I don't care about your missions, dad. I care about your life. Any civilian doctor who saw this many close calls would forbid you from dipping a toe into water. It's an outrage you were allowed to go on for so long."

"Jude, you're overreacting. I know what my limits are and I'm careful not to overdo it."

"Tell me, John, what does a combat diver do when he loses his diving certification?"

John bit his lips. He could trust Maureen to spot an anomaly, in space or on Earth. "I got reassigned. It's no big deal."

No big deal. That were the only words he'd found to reassure his wife. He might as well hand her a gun to shoot him.

"Reassigned? Where? And since when? Why didn't we change base?"

Yes, why, John? John scratched his chin. Should he tell Maureen or not? It was time to decide. Decide if he truly had lost all hope to reach the colony one day. Of course, it was too soon to know. Their current situation was a setback, nothing more. As much as he would like to come clean, he was still on a mission, bound to secrecy. "You loved your new job, the kids loved their new school, and they'd just made new friends. I couldn't ask you to give everything up again. You were all used to seeing me leave for undetermined periods of time, so..."

"So you thought you'd make the decision alone? Dammit, John! What's the point of being a family if we don't make those decisions all together?"

"Maureen, it's not like there was much of a choice."

"To you maybe. But we'll never know. It's too late."

Maureen's eyes hardened and her lips formed a thin line. Was she angry, upset or resigned? He couldn't decode her message. He couldn't even decode his own message anyway.

Since he'd left the team four years ago to join the military intelligence, his life had become an inextricable bag of knots. One lie had called for another and another, to the point that he couldn't see a clear way to lay everything down in a way that would reassure his wife that he loved her. Their relationship, to be saved, needed something more substantial than words.

Unfortunately, words were all that was left. He gently squeezed her hand. "Hey, Maureen. Talk to me."

"What do you want me to tell you, John? Right now you might as well have been living a double life and I wouldn't be the wiser."

"Hey guys! Could you settle your dispute elsewhere? Will and I would like to launch the extension protocol and you're standing in the way."

Penny's joyous interruption terminated their discussion.

"Did I say something wrong?" Penny asked while Maureen turned away from him and Judy glared at him.

"In the infirmary. Now."

John ran his hands through his hair and extracted himself from the chair. As he limped back to the Jupiter, he wondered if there was not something more profound in Maureen's blank stare than hurt, anger, mistrust, and resentment.

Wondering if he'd seen her decision to give up on him in her eyes, John paused at the bottom of the ladder.

"Dad? Are you alright?" Judy asked from the main deck.

No. "Yeah," he said.

Then, steeling himself, he stepped on the first bar of the twenty-foot high ladder and forced his sore body to keep on climbing. Would have it killed the engineers to build an elevator in their ships? This had to be some kind of divine retribution. As he reached the main deck, he leaned a hand on the bulkhead to steady himself.

John cursed as he noticed a small, dark, wet spot on his shirt over his wound.

"Hey, you don't look so good."

"You think?" John bit his lips. "Sorry."

"I'm sorry too. I didn't mean to cause a clash between you and mom. I was just worried about you."

"I know, honey." John pushed himself away from the bulkhead and was satisfied to feel his legs strong. "Er, look, I'd better go take a shower first."

Judy pointed her finger to the infirmary. "Nice try, dad."

John's shoulders dropped. Not surprisingly, his daughter had misinterpreted his sincere request for a pathetic attempt to give her the slip. Anyway, it would take him more than a change of clothes to feel human again. And the best he could do to soothe this new crisis was to submit to the medical exam without batting an eye. Which he did, for about thirty-five minutes. Until Judy, after stitching his wound for the third time and taking a pint of blood out of his left arm, at least, handed him an empty, sealed flask.

"What's that for?"

"What does it look like?"

"I don't do drugs, if that's what you're looking for."

"Don't tell me how to do my job, and I'll spare you a lecture on honesty."

John opened his mouth to deliver a sarcastic remark to his idealistic daughter but reconsidered when she turned her back to him and focused her attention on her medical database. Like Will the day before, Judy had just set a clear boundary in their relationship. She wasn't a kid anymore. She was an adult behaving professionally and asking for his respect. Or she was like her mother: pissed off at him.

Both proud and irritated, John grabbed the flask and headed for the bathroom. A couple of minutes later, he put down the sample on her desk and dashed for the exit.

"Where are you going?"

"To take a shower and then have breakfast."

"Okay, but I want you to stay inside today and rest. No climbing ladders, no jumping down hatches. There's only so many times I can stitch that wound. And wait." Judy unlocked a drawer, took a box out of it and handed it to him. "Take two pills with a glass of water every four hours for forty-eight hours."

"What is it for?"

"It's a relaxant. You have some spasms in your legs. Didn't feel them?"

"I'm not sure what I feel or not anymore."

When Judy stared back at him in silence, her shoulders sagging, John apologized for his bad joke, took the meds, and left the infirmary.

Maureen wasn't in their quarters when he entered, which wasn't a surprise. She'd pretend to be busy to avoid him all day. Stunned by the sour turn his life had just taken, John flopped on the bed and stared into space for some time before convincing his sore body to move toward the bathroom. He read the box's label and sighed. Relaxant, she'd said? Those were anxiolytics. He checked his watch. If he took them now, the next dose would be right before bedtime. And it was only for two days. Just to keep him calm and quiet because there was indeed only so many times she could stitch his wound. Alright then. He guessed that couldn't hurt. John poured himself a glass of water and swallowed two pills before turning on the shower.

Twenty minutes later, he entered the hub, feeling at least refreshed, when he noticed Harris's presence at the table.

"Would you like some coffee?"

John gave the woman a sidelong look as he retrieved a protein bar from the cupboard.

Something about Harris rubbed him the wrong way. The woman was so manipulative that even a simple act of kindness from her seemed suspicious. The truth was that despite Don's warnings, he'd been remiss in watching her. The more he thought about it, the more obvious it was that Harris was the one who had retrieved the gun from under Will's mattress and given it to Angela. Incriminating Victor Dhar of the crime was a brilliant move: she'd picked up the one colonist both he and Maureen mistrusted. He'd been played like a rookie.

And now the woman wanted to share a coffee break with him.

Which was a good opportunity for him to discover her motivations. Even compulsive liars like Harris let slip facts and valuable information, if only to justify their actions.

John sat down across the table as she poured him a cup without waiting for his answer and walked around to bring it to him.

"Thanks." John sipped at the coffee and cringed at the bitter taste.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Is it too strong? I prefer espressos and tend to think everybody's like me." Harris leaped to her feet. "Let me get you some sugar."

"No, no, it's fine. Actually, I prefer it like that."

"Really?" Harris flopped back in her seat and crossed her hands on the table. "Maybe you should tell your wife. I've tasted teas that are stronger than the liquid she calls coffee. Sorry, I didn't want to criticize Maureen in front of you."

"Yeah, that's exactly what you wanted." John glanced above his shoulder to check his blind spot. "To her defense, she drinks way more coffee than me and I'm usually not around that much so she can have her coffee the way she likes it."

Harris chuckled. "Perfectly understandable. But from now on, I'll fix our brew every morning."

Now, that would definitely annoy Maureen, which was probably the reason Harris was proposing this. To get under his wife's skin. "Arh, you don't have to."

"No, I insist. Like my father used to say, it's the little services that count."

Yeah, they do. John sighed. "Thanks." If Maureen said anything, he'd just tell her that he made that concession to get on Harris's good side so she could reveal why she had stolen another man's identity. Something had happened on the Resolute between Smith and Harris, or maybe even before, years or decade before. A family feud? Was the man even still alive?

John mulled over these thoughts while Harris kept on talking.

"I was shot once in my right arm by a deranged patient. It took months to heal properly because I was in the middle of redecorating the house and I couldn't bring myself to postpone all my projects and rest. I knew I should but I couldn't. It's insane, right?"

John gazed into the dark liquid. This fact was easy to check, he just had to ask Judy. Her concept of patient-doctor confidentiality seemed loose enough to allow him to peek a look on Harris's file.

"No, it's not. Civilians aren't prepared to deal with the emotional toll of a violent assault."

"Most of the people have the false impression that they are the masters of their life while really that isn't true at all. We are governed by delicate electro-chemical reactions in our brain. The slightest imbalance can cause us to act irrationally." Harris marked a pause and shifted on her seat. "Not that it excuses my conduct but, you ought to know that I'm suffering from bipolar disorder. I've informed Judy and she was kind enough to start a treatment plan so, hopefully, you won't have to deal with another of my violent crisis."

John tried to stay impassive at the news and its implications.

Harris wouldn't the first one to have certain black spots removed from her application, but what were the odds? He just hoped she hadn't used the same back channel as Maureen. There was only so much he could do to protect his family and this would certainly complicate things a notch if they managed to reach the colony one day.

"How did you pass through the vetting?"

"When you have money, it's not a big thing really."

"Maybe, but money isn't everything. You have to know who to contact in the first place."

"There's more than one way in. And I'll make a wild guess here, but I think you know what I mean."

Was she talking about him or about Maureen?

"Enlighten me."

"Call it a professional quirk, but I don't think I am the only one suffering a relapse. I'm worried about you, John. Sincerely."

Ah. She was gunning for him. Good. John took a sip of his coffee to look casual. "You shouldn't. I'm fine."

"Sure. I know better than to push. Denial is a strong defense mechanism."

What the heck was Harris talking about? John finished drinking his coffee, trying not to show his growing uneasiness. Why was he here by the way? Because right now, it felt like she was leading the conversation and that wasn't his plan.

"Dad?"

Judy's voice crackled in the intercom.

"Excuse me." John stood up and reached for the intercom. "Yes, Jude?"

"Could you come back in the infirmary for a moment?"

Saved by the bell.

"Thanks for the coffee break." John put down the mug in the sink.

"I understand that you can't trust me to be a reliable therapist, but there are other people around you if you feel the need to talk at some point, preferably before someone gets hurt, or worse."

John froze for a slight second before walking out of the hub. No way Harris could know what had happened to him in the basement. Well, she knew like everybody that he had emptied a clip down there, but she couldn't know that he'd kept his last bullet for himself, right? Dammit. Could his day turn any worse? He got the answer as soon as he stepped into the infirmary.

"Lie down. I want to make a scan of your lungs."

"What for?"

"Your blood ph is a bit low. And you were a bit short of breath after climbing the ladder earlier."

"I'm not having a gaseous embolism, Jude. I was free diving for five minutes, not scuba diving for two hours. And I know the symptoms. I'm not experiencing any of them."

"Better safe than sorry."

Yep. Against that, there was nothing to say. John hauled himself on the exam bed. As he lay down, Judy pulled a nasal oxygen cannula over his head.

"What do I need that for?"

"Your blood pH is low because your CO2 levels are a bit high. Relax your arm. Stay still."

John flinched as Judy injected something in the veins of his elbow. He wasn't having an embolism. He'd know it. His exhaustion and earlier shortness of breath had nothing to do with decompression illness but everything with his wound and him sleeping half-bent in a chair. John closed his eyes as the CT machine deployed from a trapdoor over him and positioned itself above his chest.

"Don't move."

Yeah, I know the drill.

He was dozing when Judy came back fifteen minutes later.

John raised on his forearms. "Can I go now?"

But Judy pushed him back flat and put a pad on his chest. "I've heard you complain quite a few times about not having time to read. Today's your lucky day. I'm sure you'll find Penny's library extensive."

"How long do you want to keep me here?"

"Take a nap if you prefer. Your choice. We'll see in a few hours what your metrics are."

"Hours? Seriously?"

"You need to rest anyway. Give that wound a chance to heal."

John grunted.

"I'll go help mom with the sensors, but I'm keeping tabs on you. Try to relax, okay? I'll ask the others not to disturb you."

Sure. Having a little distraction to make time pass faster would be a shame.

John kept this sarcasm to himself as Judy gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze before walking away, her medical pad in hand. He couldn't blame his daughter for showing professionalism, could he? Damn. He'd never been good at this.

After two minutes of intense study of the lack of pattern on the ceiling tiles, John grabbed Penny's pad. Not that he had much hope of finding something fitting his mood among her young adult library.

There were classics by the dozens, depressing dramas most of them. No thank you. His misery index was high enough as it was.

John scrolled through the comedies but nothing appealed to him. Theater pieces... no thanks again. Poetry? If Maureen caught him reading a haiku he wouldn't hear the end of it. A war section? There were only a handful of titles, classics too, The Trojan Wars, War and Peace...

John cursed as two familiar titles caught his attention.

One of the novels was a collection of short stories from soldiers and other players during the Iraq war at the beginning of the century. The other was one of many about Navy SEALs, probably the kind that had inspired his sister to throw buckets of ice at him in the middle of the night. John froze. Now he knew who Penny took after: Maggie. She was her aunt all over as far as personality went.

John looked at the date of the download and cursed anew. Penny had bought them one week after he had officially re-upped. Had this been her way to try to understand his life? Connect a bridge to his world? To him? Whatever the reason, twelve-year old was way too young to be exposed to such reading. He really had to talk with Maureen. Didn't she vet their children's readings for god's sake?

Anxious to know what kind of impression these two books could have made on his daughter's young, innocent mind, John opened the first one but didn't make it through the first chapter before dozing off.

When he opened his eyes again, he couldn't figure out the time. A tray with an opened ration lay untouched on the side table. He wasn't hungry and the food was cold. He'd reheat it later to avoid wasting precious resources.

John drifted again and woke up to whispers. He felt like someone had put bricks on his eyelids and there was something over his face. Was that an oxygen mask?He forced his eyes to open but his sight was blurry. He wriggled and stretched his neck to look behind him. Maureen and Judy were talking together next to the desk.

What had his daughter put in his drip that made him feel so foggy? More anxiolytics. Dammit.

Darkness claimed him again. But this time, his sleep animated with vivid dreams.

One moment he was attacking an outpost outside Caracas, the next he was swimming under a derelict aircraft carrier in the middle of the San Diego Bay, searching for a weak spot to place explosive charges under their instructor's scrutiny. The carrier disappeared. He was sitting in the divers' vehicle transport in total darkness and cold, polluted water up to his neck. He was placing C4 on an under water wall, then swam away to a safe distance to trigger the charges. The wall exploded and he swam inside the hole into a now flooded tunnel. Jackson was covering his rear. But something was wrong. The tunnel's layout was not what they were expecting. His teammate tapped his shoulder twice. John pivoted fast as hostiles appeared out of nowhere. Icy fingers snatched his mask from his face. Holding his breath, John reached for his assaillant's neck.

The lights switched on, bright and blinding. John squinted and blinked.

"Dad?"

What was Judy doing in the tunnel?

"Let her go, dad, please!"

Let who go? he wondered for a split second before realizing he was holding someone in a headlock.

Oh, God!

"Dad, it's okay. You're okay. Just let her go."

Judy's words were reassuring but her voice was tense. She stretched her hand, palm opened toward him. She grabbed his arm, and touched his hand.

John drew a shallow breath. He wasn't in a tunnel beneath the Turkish jail surrounded by enemy soldiers. He was in the Jupiter's infirmary surrounded by his family, a limp, warm body under his grasp. He forced his arms to open.

Someone collapsed at his feet with a sickening thud.

A cold sweat ran down John's hairline and neck as the nightmare dispersed, leaving him with a reality he wasn't sure he had the strength to face.

Who had he strangled?

"John? What happened?" Maureen asked.

His throat tightened as she appeared behind Judy. Not Maureen. Not Judy. That left Penny. No, it couldn't be Penny. Maureen wouldn't have asked him what happened if Penny was on the ground. She'd be screaming out of her mind. So it left only one possible person. Slowly, he lowered his eyes and gasped in relief as he watched Judy performing CPR on Harris.

Thank god. Thank god. He could think of nothing else.

"John?" Maureen stepped toward him.

He jerked his eyes toward his wife but, unable to sustain her gaze, he shoved her hand away and burst out the infirmary. Maureen's and Penny's desperate calls echoed in the corridor, begging him to stop. But he had to get out. He needed to breathe some fresh air, to find a bucket of icy water and pour it over his head to wake up because this, this had to be a nightmare.

His boots had barely touched the rocky ground when a violent spasm seized him. His legs buckled under his weight as a jet of burning bile shot through his mouth. As he retched, a hand squeezed his shoulder. John leapt to his feet and, holding his wounded side, he strode away from the Jupiter without a look back while Maureen's and Don's clashing voices reverberated under the clear night sky.

"Let go of me. John?!"

"Leave him some space."

"No way! He needs to go back to the infirmary so Judy can check on him and-"

"He doesn't need to be questioned or prodded just now. Give him a minute. He's strong. He'll come around."

"What do you know?"

"Actually, more than you."

Their voices faded as he increased the distance, and John focused on putting one foot in front of the other. He climbed on top of the hoodoo formation he'd observed during the storm two days ago and half-ran half-slid down the other side. His shaking legs finally yielded under his weight and he flopped down hard.

He'd been under tremendous loads of stress in his career but nothing had made his body liquefy like this before.

Was he losing his mind? After all this time? Had he reached his limit? Was having his family caught in the middle of the storm the final straw? If that was the case, they were safer without him.

As tears wet his face, John brought his knees to his chest.

Rocks rolling down above startled him. John reached for his switchblade as Don's voice sounded.

"Hey, don't freak. It's only me."

A few seconds later, the mechanic sat down next to him. "Care to share a drink with me? I don't like to binge alone."

At the nudge to his shoulder, John turned his head toward Don and saw the bottle of whiskey. He grabbed it, opened it, and gulped. Though he'd regret it in the morning, to drink himself blind was the best plan at the moment.

After several swallows, he handed it back to the mechanic and saw that the man was drinking from another.

"Thought you wanted to make money out of those."

"Yeah, well, you'll pay me when we make it to Alpha Centauri, wherever it is now."

"Is Harris..."

"Ahrrr! Don't worry. That woman is worse than weed. She's okay. And if you don't mind me saying it, it was time someone gave her a taste of her own medicine."

"I don't know what took me. I could have killed her."

"But you didn't. Some part of your brain was lucid enough to keep you from snapping her neck. I'm not sure I would have had the same restraint."

John took another long pull at the bottle, appreciating to feel the heat burning down his throat. The guy was rising in his esteem every day. He was starting to feel the relaxing effect of alcohol on his body when the mechanic spoke again.

"I was in Tehran in sixty-three. I was in the Forty-Sixth."

John raised one eyebrow at Don. It hadn't been a good year to be there, and the Forty-Sixth had seen some bloodbaths that had brought Barbary to new limits.

"How old were you in sixty-three?"

"One or two months shy of sixteen. Five actually."

"You lied to incorporate?"

"Well, it seemed a better idea than to stay in Skid-Row. And if you ask me, I'm still convinced I made the right choice because, hey, I'm still alive and free. Though I admit not knowing where you are kinda sucks."

John chuckled and drank to the last statement as the memories of the war resurfaced. The whole damned region had plunged into a hellish chaos past the mid-century, swarmed with terrorists organizations with new branches that sprouted every week. But that could have been controllable, if decades of unregulated, unchecked stocking of chemical weapons hadn't reached its ignition point.

"I was there from July to September that year. We couldn't drink enough to stay hydrated under those suits."

"Yeah, that heat! I could take a shower every night with the lake I'd sweat in my boots during the day, man! Which division were you in?"

"Third hawk."

John felt Don straightening up.

"Black-ops, huh? Knew a guy back then, maybe you knew him too? Mark Thomson. Six foot four, dark hair, eight packs, two hundred and fifty, a fucking terminator. The guy bragged once he'd trained to be a SEAL but got medically discharged in his second week. Said his back got crushed between a boat and rocks. Anyway, he kept boasting that enemy soldiers firing at him was less scary than the instructors back home, that none of us would have made it through the first day."

"Nah. If you survived Tehran's siege without shitting yourself, you'd probably have made it through the first week."

"First? No kidding! And what does it take to go through the whole training?"

"I wouldn't know. Don't remember anything after the first week."

"No shit?"

John glanced sidelong at Don. How could the smuggler be naive enough not to realize that he was messing with him?

"Resilience, determination, stubborness, luck. Good luck."

"Not sure I have either. Especially the second. Good thing I didn't try."

"You're too hard on yourself. Last time I checked, the mortality rate in downtown LA was pretty high."

"You're West coast?"

"From time to time."

"Good luck, bad luck, dumb luck... I don't believe in fate so that's what I tell myself. I was double-checking a trader's ID one day in Tehran. Mark, the eight-pack guy, he pushed me out of the way just before the other guy blew himself up. I still don't know why he did that. Saved my worthless ass."

"I'm glad he did."

John tilted his bottle toward Don's and clinked.

They drank again in silence for another moment, each lost in their own memories while shooting stars pierced the night sky. When the conversation started anew, the alcohol flooding their systems derailed the topics from women to the prestige of the uniform and tattoos, though in which order it wasn't clear.

"I got'em removed," John said in answer to the mechanic's curiosity.

"The chicks?"

"Nah, the tattoos."

"Isn't that treason?"

"Maureen wanted me to keep one at least. She thought it looked kinda badass."

"Never thought I'd say this but I agree with your wife. Why on Earth did you do that?"

John took a deep breath to make Don think he was hesitating. Alcohol or not, he still had enough control over his words and knew perfectly well where he was going. The time had come to cross that bridge.

"Because they identify who you are."

Don snortled. "You sound like you're CIA or something."

John fell silent to let Don's imagination filling the sudden void. The mechanic glanced at him several times before he exclaimed:

"Oh, fucking god! You're here to bust my smuggling operation."

John took another swallow. He knew the guy was smarter than he looked, though a bit narcissistic.

"You're not the only fish in the pond, Don."

"What? You're not here for me?"

"Maybe I was."

"Maybe you were? Wait? What other fish?"

"Drug dealers for one."

"Oh, man. I've always stayed cleared of that kind. But I'm not surprised. I've told you, people go to Alpha Centauri to escape their crap life on Earth, but they bring all their flaws, their vices, and their depravity with them. No matter how tight the vetting is, there're always ways to cheat a system governed by people. And as soon as the stakes are high enough for some, there's money to make for others. Simple enough. That colony is no utopia. Does your wife know?"

Arh… If Don wanted to use this new intel as leverage, that wasn't his smartest move.

"Your life sucks," the mechanic said.

"So, after your turn in Iran, you went back to the states to study mechanics?" John asked, changing the subject to break the tension before Don would feel the need to digest the news somewhere else.

What John needed was to renew the feeling of trust they'd built while they orbited the dying planet in a shredded piece of the Tanaka's Jupiter. That was when he knew Don could be turned.

If the Resolute made contact and they were able to resume their trip to the colony, his plan to be recruited as an arms dealer had a greater chance of success with Don pointing out the right players. Of course, there was a great risk that whatever he'd dig up then would also expose the whole organisation responsible for bypassing the selection process.

Don was right. His life sucked.

Well… he'd burn that bridge when he reached it. He wanted to think that he'd still have a few favors to cash in to keep his family out of trouble, even if this line of thought made his mind boggle. It was part of his job's description to bring down whoever bypassed the system. Criminals. Not his wife. John drew another swallow at the bottle while Don exposed his life.

"I wanted to get the hell away from Earth so I specialized in ships. You never quite escape your past, right? It sticks with you no matter what you do to kick it away... Even changing galaxies doesn't cut it. Anyway, I guess I finally got more than I bargained for," Don said.

"And us all. But it could be worse. At least, we've got oxygen to breathe."

"Oh, about that, not quite enough. When you were napping, the sensors revealed that there's slightly more carbon dioxide in this planet's atmosphere than on Earth. Just enough to throw our metabolisms off balance. It's the reason Debbie hasn't laid an egg since we've arrived, and the reason you're sick. We all are, although none as severely as you."

John's eyes widened as he suddenly felt a weight disappear. "I don't have an embolism."

"No, you don't. If I recall your daughter's explanation correctly, you just exerted yourself too much under a too poor atmosphere after a free dive that loaded your blood with CO2."

John closed his eyes and leaned on his back with a deep sigh. Oh thank god! Couldn't have Don tell him this earlier? Now he had hope that maybe all his other issues were somewhat linked. Lack of oxygen caused confusion for starters, and his afternoon reading had settled the mood, a perfect recipe for a vivid nightmare. He wasn't nuts. He hadn't lost his mind.

But his relief was brief.

He hadn't lacked oxygen when the alien frequency had conjured up memories about the Turkish jail mission, pushing him on the verge of committing suicide. And earlier, he wasn't under alien influence when the same nightmare had almost got Harris killed. It was hard not to see a pattern here. The next time he'd find himself under stress– Harris was right.

Someone might be killed.

He should have stayed on Earth.

John gulped his whiskey until his throat and stomach felt like filled by liquid fire.


	6. Chapter 6

A Robinson Tale

Part II

The Storm

* * *

Chapter 6

Five days later, in the early morning, John sneaked into the garage and froze. He stacked the storage bin full of rations on top of the three others and trained the beam of his headlamp around to dispel the shadows.

The reason for his unease appeared again and he felt sheepish at the sight of it. It was the robot, lying next to the chariot.

What was wrong with him?

John arched his back to relieve the tension in his body. In two days, he'll be free to roam outside like Don's chicken. Until then, being cage-free was still an improvement considering Judy had wanted to put him on bedrest for the whole week.

Forty-eight hours. How long could that be?

John turned off his headlamp, leaned his back against the bulkhead, and slowly lowered himself to the deck with a grunt. He knew exactly how long it would feel. Time had ceased being linear.

As he stared into the darkness, his mind brought him back fifteen-years ago, at the wheel of the car he'd rented with two other soldiers to report to a remote army base in Montana for a forty-eight hours training exercise on captivity, unaware that the drill had already begun. Young, arrogant, and naive they were.

One moment they were bragging that the instructor was not born yet who would break them, the next they were on their knees, hands tied behind their back, a stinking black hood over their head, barrels pressing on their skulls while orders in farsi were shouted at them.

Despite the realistic staging, he knew, like his two other companions, that they weren't expendables. At worse, he was in for a Halloween horror trail on steroids. He'd get out of the haunted house alive and mostly unscathed. That certitude had faded after his first failed attempt to escape and died after his second when his prison guards transferred him to a locker-sized cell with electrified walls between beating sessions to extract information from them. Then, time had ceased to have any meaning. And for good reason. They had kept them for three weeks. Maureen had called the base over a dozen times. She couldn't hide her anxiety back then. Yeah. That was a long time ago.

When they'd freed him, John remembered only two things: his fist landing on the first face that made the mistake to come within reach and the visceral pleasure he'd felt when the guy's nose had broken under his knuckles.

In the garage, John grinned as the memory of Instructor D., the same infamous bastard who had given him hell during boot camp six years before, depriving him of sleep, stepping into the debriefing room a couple of days later, wearing a large bandage over his nose.

True, he'd been persuaded at his stern stare that his time in the SEALs had just met an abrupt end, but after weighing him up for a long minute, D. had burst into laughter and slapped him in the back. He'd completed the training and thankfully, if God was on his side, he wouldn't have to do it ever again in his life.

Unfortunately, either D. had been wrong or god wasn't on his side, which was a possibility considering their present situation, but he'd done it again, when Will was about four. That time, the instructors had made D. look like a choir boy. And now, here he was, being held captive by his own daughter. A fishing trip. How could Judy be cruel enough to put her veto on that?

John rolled his eyes at his own silliness.

However, now that he remembered all this, the reason his current restriction of movement was almost as difficult to endure as D's psychopathic games was self-evident: there was nobody to punch when it would be over. The tension building up would have to find another way out.

John glanced at the fitness area and a plan for his morning formed into his mind.

First, replenish the chariot's rations for Maureen and Don's trip to the lake. Then, go for a ten K.

With a renewed energy, John rose up, turned on his headlamp, grabbed the two top boxes, and stepped forward as a formidable, jerky snore reverberated into the garage. As John glanced toward the storage area where Don slept, his foot tripped on something, and he crashed hard on top of the bins. A sharp crack echoed as one lid broke and a multitude of white and silver packages spilled on the deck like a school of sardines under the beam of his headlamp.

John hissed in pain as he pulled himself up on his knees and stared at the mess, dismayed by his clumsiness. Don's nasal snore reverberated again. How could anybody produce such a noise, anyway? The guy was incapable, day or night, to be discreet.

Making himself a note to never bring Don on the field, he was gathering the rations when fast footsteps echoed in the shaft and the lights turned on.

"Everything's okay? I heard like a shot," Maureen asked.

John pushed the box behind the chariot passenger seat. "I just tripped on Will's toy. Sorry I woke you up."

"You sure you're okay?"

Tired to be asked that question, John tossed one last ration in the box and dragged his wife against him to kiss her. Her arms wrapped around his neck, but after a moment, she pulled away and tilted her head to look into the chariot.

"You know we're going for two days, not a month, right?"

"Never hurt anybody to be cautious." John dropped his head against her chest and took a deep breath of the warm, vanilla scent of her body. Being separated for two days, that was the real torture D. would never have thought of. "I should go with you."

"Remember what you told me in the engine room about Judy?" she said as she climbed into the chariot.

John crossed his arms over his chest. It was one of those times when being right was as annoying as his wife's ability to rub the salt in the wound.

"I'll let you drive this time. And I checked, there's no tar pit between here and the lake."

Maureen chuckled. "Nice try, but you'll recover faster if you sit this one out."

"If you want me to rest, take Judy with you. She's driving me crazy."

"She's worried about you."

"I get it, and I'm really sorry I scared you all. But I'm feeling much better now."

"Do you?" Maureen cupped his chin and gently forced him to look at her.

All too aware that feeling and looking were two different things, John hugged her tightly and kissed her neck, taking another deep breath as he slid his hands under her shirt. Her soft skin was intoxicating. Her fingers ran through his hair and his neck, and a tingle of excitement spread through his body. He closed his eyes and let his senses being captured when a quick series of impacts on his right boot broke the spell.

John lowered his gaze and shook his leg. Don's chicken, Debbie, was once again mistaking his laces for worms.

The confused bird flew a few feet away. Unfortunately, so did Maureen.

John grabbed his wife's hand. Her piercing blue eyes stared back at him, and for a moment, John felt like he had her whole attention. He shifted on his feet, trying to find the right words to convey his feelings about the tension that persisted in their couple when Don let out another of his snore, breaking the spell for a second time. Arh! The gods were against him.

While Maureen checked what he'd stored into the chariot, John leaned against the door frame. "You be careful, okay?"

"I never thought I'd say this about Don, but when it comes down to it, I trust the guy."

"And I wouldn't let you go with him if I didn't also."

"So everything's fine."

Except for one detail, but who cares?

After the tar pit incident, he'd thought they had cleared the air, but the respite had lasted only for a couple of hours while they hiked through the forest toward the Dhar's Jupiter until life had sent them another curveball. Now, Maureen was distant again. Though after a full month of permanent life and death crisis, her attitude was more due to exhaustion than anger. He shouldn't blame her. What was new for her was old song for him, and yet, here he was, feeling his energy drain away. His wife was the strongest person he knew, but everybody had a breaking point. If they kept on going from one predicament to another, she would reach hers, it was unavoidable. He had to keep it together and be there for her and for his kids, and for Don too. Harris could go to hell.

John scratched his neck.

No, he was wrong. Harris had proven too dangerous not to keep a special tab on her.

Gosh... it was less stressful when he was deployed.

Coffee. He needed caffeine to run through his veins to be able to keep himself busy and avoid thinking too much. But before that, the last thing on his to-do list was to haul the inflatable up on the chariot's roof.

"Time to wake up the ugly, snoring frog," he said as he headed toward the mechanical arm interface. "Hey, Don! Get your ass away from the crates."

John entered a request for the boat and activated the arm which triggered the motion alarm. At once, the disheveled mechanic leapt to his feet, tripped, and fell on his butt. Maureen leaned on his shoulder and whispered in his ear: "If I didn't know you better, I'd say you're jealous."

"Me, jealous? Why would I be? You leave me alone with our three kids in order to have a good time with another man on a lake."

"How is that any different from all the times you left me to go on a mission?" Maureen climbed onto the chariot while the arm's pliers seized the boat's crate and positioned it above the chariot's roof. "And as for being alone with your kids, you're making up for lost time."

"Arrh… you know it's not that."

"What is it then?"

John's shoulders sagged as he bit his lips to keep silent. The last thing he wanted was another argument. A good decision since Don's cheerful voice sounded a few seconds later when the guy joined Maureen's side to help guide the package.

"Good morning, guys. Easy… easy… there. All good. You can drop now."

The chariot's suspension bounced as John freed the crate from the arm's pliers.

While the arm returned to its standby position, John climbed on the chariot to strap the cargo, trying to avoid snapping at Don who was standing way too close to his wife.

"Come on, John, don't look so miserable," Maureen said.

"I don't."

"Yeah, you do, man. You have this face that looks like–"

"Shut up, Don." John pulled on a strap and began to tie it around the chariot's rail.

"Oh, I get it. First time you get to stay home with the kids and it's your wife that leaves you. Reversed roles. It sucks to be you, mate."

John glared at the mechanic who had enough instinct to move away.

"Hey, I'll go up for a light breakfast if you want to join, or not."

Ignoring the mechanic, John stepped inside the chariot to join Maureen who, as cautious as ever, was double checking everything. But for once, she was doing so with a light smile on her face, betraying that her thoughts weren't entirely on her mission. Encouraged, John slid his hands under her shirt again and crept up toward her breasts, kissing her in the hollow of her neck until she wiggled away from his embrace, gave his shoulder a pat, and jumped out of the chariot.

John's shoulders sunk again.

"At least say you'll miss me."

Maureen pivoted to face him. Her smile was still there but it was one of amusement more than love, or as he would have wished, lust.

"I'll miss you. Happy?"

Diplomatic, but no, not even close.

"This isn't about me resting, this is about revenge," he said, trying to keep her talking to him. Goddammit! To be reduced to pursue his wife to get some attention like a dog begging to be stroked would make any man question his manliness.

John flopped down on one of the crates and looked at his feet while Maureen buzzed around, looking for god knew what. He'd already packed up more than they needed.

Maybe these two days away from each other would do their relationship some good after all?

Half an hour later, John reflected on this thought from the top of the ramp while he watched the cloud of dust rising behind the chariot's wheels.

He stretched his neck out to see the deep blue sky and was appreciating the cool draft blowing on his face when a gentle hand landed on his shoulder.

"Don't worry. They'll come back with a world class catch," Judy said.

"I'm not worried."

An indignified cackle sounded. John's eyes grew wide as he watched his daughter pushing the uncooperative chicken outside. Debbie needed her dose of vitamin D.

Halfway down the ramp, Judy turned her head towards him and shrugged. "I've drawn the short straw this morning."

John forced himself to laugh. That was one cross he didn't have to bear.

On this sterile planet, it had come to everybody's attention that Don's pet had only one predator: Harris. So the mechanic had the kids swear that they would watch it around the clock as if it were the goose that laid the golden egg.

Maybe he should feel happy that they weren't drawing straws to decide who would keep him entertained, as if he were a senile old man who couldn't be left alone. That might come one day though. God, could he have more depressing thoughts?

John shook his head, disappointed in himself. He'd never been one to indulge in self-pity. Why begin now?

"You can close the ramp now, dad."

While the Jupiter re-pressurized with a distinctive hissing sound, John watched a thin layer of dust settling down in the now lifeless garage. He clapped his hands. Time for his ten K.

John stepped on the mat, glancing at the closed ramp, glad that Judy wasn't there to order him to take it easy. He was done taking it easy. His body needed a good scrubbing.

He was running as if instructor D. was pursuing him madly with a machete when Will approached him twenty-five minutes later.

"How long can you run at that pace?"

"How long do you need me to?"

Will didn't laugh at his joke. He couldn't either. Not enough breath.

"Why did you turn the screen off?"

Before he could react, Will leaned over the controls and switched it back on. "Warning," the computer's gender neutral voice said. "Heart rate critical. Emergency shutdown engaged."

John grabbed the handles to keep his balance as the mat slowed down. Feeling wobbly on his legs, he flopped down and propped his elbows on his knees. Sweat dripped down his face to the deck between his feet. Not enough air penetrated in his lungs to calm down his heart. Wincing, he leaned back to open his ribcage when a bottle of water appeared in front of his eyes.

John took the water, drank half of it, and poured the rest over his head to cool off.

"You realize the treadmills are just beneath the infirmary, right? Close enough to register your vitals."

John glanced up and winced. He'd forgotten that detail. "Did Judy send you?"

His son shook his head. "I wanted to try another approach with the robot but I need your help."

"Go ahead."

"I want to pull an alien cable up on the Jupiter's roof and see if it is capable of dragging power from the solar array directly."

John winced. To do this, he'd have to cut a cable first. And the last time he'd cut one of those damn thing, his ears had rung for two days, which, on second thought, wasn't the worst thing that could have happened.

When Will and Maureen had plugged the robot into the Jupiter's batteries, he'd been too sick from his hangover to warn them about the risk of triggering a self-destruct failsafe. Now, he was lucid enough to consider it.

"Did you talk about this to your mom?"

"She said it should be okay as long as I don't mess with the micro-inverters."

"So what do you need my help for?"

His son winced in embarrassment and his voice suddenly lost all assurance. "The pliers are in the mechanical room."

"Yeah. And?"

A moment later, John stood on the mechanical room's doorstep. "Okay, I see."

An entanglement of hundreds of alien cables blocked the mechanical room. No pliers, that he could do without, his switchblade had proven sharp enough for the task, but no ear protection, again? John paused to consider the risks. No light ran along the cables this time. As weird as it sounded, they looked dead. And the ship wasn't singing anymore so there was a good chance that he wouldn't trigger any alarm this time. But risking his eardrums was one thing, risking Will's another entirely.

"Hey! Go up. I'll call you when I'm done."

"Why?"

"Humor me."

Once Will had disappeared in the shaft leading to the main deck, John took out his knife, pressed the blade against one of the cables in front of him, and in a quick move, sliced the cable.

Silence.

All his muscles relaxed and he drew a deep breath.

"Let's see…" John said to himself as he examined the garage's layout.

Twenty feet from the robot to the closest hatch, forty up to the roof, ten more from the roof hatch to the closest solar panel.

Using the web of cables like a net, John climbed to the ceiling to cut another one, this time as close as possible to the ventilation grid. Still no blaring siren. So far so good.

"Hey, Will! You can come back, buddy," he shouted as he started to follow this black Ariana thread through the engine room.

John crouched to study the three-foot-wide egg-like structure nesting into a corner and from which at least a hundred cables sprang toward the engine shafts and the main breaker cicruit.

He stretched his hand toward its dark and smooth surface. The object was cold. What kind of generator was this? Fusion? Fission? Had Maureen tested it for radiation?

Storing his concerns in a corner of his mind, John resumed pulling on the cable for Will's science project like it was a mere vine, following it in the dark passageway between the fuel tanks.


	7. Chapter 7

A Robinson Tale

Part II

The Storm

* * *

Chapter 7

Harris quickly crouched behind the crate she'd just searched and turned off her flashlight.

What was John doing in the garage so early?

She stayed still while he climbed up and down the main shaft, putting down something on the floor each time. Bins. Harris cursed. He was prepping the chariot for the fishing trip. So far, she'd drawn a blank in her quest to find illegal weapons to prove her suspicions that John was an arms dealer. But she wasn't ready to give up yet. There were still a few crates to search, including the ones on which Don was sleeping. The sooner the guy absconded with John's wife, the better.

A thud followed by a groan of pain startled her. Oh, god! Had he tripped?

Harris grinned as she watched John picking himself up. Balance and coordination issues were a side effect of Mazepine. Which meant her concoction began to work.

The lights turned on in the garage. Harris shifted in a darker recesses of the engine room as the engineer's panicked voice echoed.

"Everything's okay? I heard like a shot."

Interesting. Any loud, sharp sound was enough to pull Maureen out of bed. Who was suffering from PTSD? The husband or the wife?

Intrigued, Harris risked a step towards the door frame to get a better view of the dysfunctional couple.

Her interest grew as she watched in amusement John trying and failing to initiate intimacy with his wife. Maureen rushed to check on him each time he had the hiccups but denied him his most basic needs. And they said that she was the one lacking empathy. That took the cake!

"Hey, Don! Get your ass away from the crates."

Harris winced as the mechanic joined the party. The garage was getting too crowded for her taste. Careful not to trip over the robot's cables, she retreated a couple of feet into the engine room but stayed close enough to overhear their conversation.

The grin on her face widened.

Speaking before thinking as always, Don showed himself unable to take John's distress signals seriously and forced his friend to swallow his pride and give up on getting through to anybody.

Excellent. John's mental strength was under attack on all sides. In a perfect world, Judy would come down at that precise moment and remind him to take it easy and rest. The girl was overprotective and didn't understand that by watching her father's slightest move, she weakened his resilience and played right into her hand.

John's miseries piled up higher than the Empire State building. A fall was inevitable. And like for the robot, she'd be the one to pick up the pieces.

In the darkness, Harris's eyes lit up with the thrill of a hunter having cornered her prey.

Depressed people were more manipulable. John would be no exception. It was his fault after all. He really shouldn't have threatened her after she'd saved his and his son's lives. Without her, Maureen would be a widow. Twice actually.

Harris paused to reflect on what had happened in the basement. The two tanks of fuel had amplified the alien harmonic to the nth power and it was her hallucination that had saved John both from himself and from her. Even trillions of light years away, her damn sister had managed to impose her self-rightuous morality and convinced to talk him out of blowing his own brains. How disgusting. What had she gotten from that good samaritan act anyway? Threats!

Once more here was the proof that no good deed goes unpunished.

Talking about proof, Harris's mind focused back on her first reason she was in the garage.

If she couldn't get hold on a piece of evidence that John was an arms dealer, maybe his illicit cargo was on the Resolute, gaining his trust was paramount. One way or another, she'd have an ace up her sleeve to avoid the authorities if the Resolute was still intact somewhere and looking for them. If they didn't, well... at least it was an enjoyable way to enrage Maureen.

As the mechanic headed for the main shaft, Harris retreated to the safety of darkness again and crept through the passageway between the fuel tanks. An instant later, she shut the airlock door behind her, crouched next to her backpack, and retrieved her handkerchief and the rock she'd picked up on one of her walks.

For the sixth day in a row, she applied herself to crushing four of the anti-seizure drugs and one sedative to a fine powder. Again, the mental image of killing a roach popped into Harris's mind.

Why did her subconscious insist on sending her this message over and over again?

The obvious reason was that she considered the Robinsons to be vermin: West Coast suburban bores with a fake boho gloss, privileged, high-tech rats that she was forced to tolerate.

However, who would want to be alone on this depressing world, anyway?

Harris paused to examine her conflicting feelings. Did she miss New York's diverse, exhilarating, fast-paced chaotic life, the crime-ridden, rotten holes where she used to live? Not at all. Maybe this image of roaches was a way to tell her she'd lost out by seeking a golden place among the peaceful colonists? No, she didn't think so.

Then, maybe it was just about the roaches. No matter how we try to control their population, they always find a way to survive. Didn't that make her a roach too? Weird.

Harris redoubled her efforts to crush the Robinsons cockroaches into dust until her wrist and arm ached and yanked her back to reality. She unfolded the handkerchief and whistled in a surprised satisfaction. She'd never obtained such a fine granulometry.

Aware that John could climb up any time now, she refolded the package, put it in her pocket, and opened the door.

The children's joyful voices filtered down from the cockpit. Good. While Penny and Will babbled with their mother over the radio, Harris sneaked into the hub. She couldn't keep her mouth from twitching into a smile at the sight of John's thermos of coffee on the kitchen counter.

Since they'd landed on this unknown, sterile world, and despite Judy's efforts to convince him otherwise, John was rationing his food and running on the dark brew. Making her job even easier, Maureen prepared him his daily fix every morning.

Harris checked her surroundings once more before opening the lid to dump the powder in the steaming hot beverage.

She had barely set the thermos back after giving it a vigorous shake to dissolve the drugs when Penny entered the hub from the aft door. The girl froze when she saw her.

Harris pasted a smile on her face. "I was leaving, you can stay."

She was stepping out of the central room when Will, pad in hand, marched in from the portside entrance. While his sister opened a cupboard, the boy strode straight to the kitchen area, crouched to retrieve a sport bottle in another cupboard, and filled it with tap water.

"What's the emergency?" Penny asked as she dropped in a chair around the table.

"Dad's running on a treadmill."

"He's got nothing to do. Give him a break."

"The infirmary's computer picking up his vitals. Take a look." Will slid the pad across the table to his sister.

"Yeah... that's going to piss Judy for sure."

"I'm going to ask him to help me try a new approach with the robot. It'll keep him occupied for a while, I hope."

"Hey, Will! Bring him his coffee too."

Harris leaped across the corridor to hide inside the infirmary, but the boy couldn't have spotted her anyway. As soon as he exited the hub, he turned left and dashed for the main shaft with his bottle of water and his father's thermos of coffee in hand. Harris shrugged in mild regret. Knowing there wouldn't be a chance to talk to John again this morning, she headed to the cockpit.

Through the windshield, she observed Judy reading on her pad while Don's stupid chicken pecked around the firepit. How ironic. The young doctor was guarding the wrong patient. She didn't care about the chicken. Humans were much more interesting to experiment with. However, she feared she had underestimated her guinea-pig. If John was running that meant he was fighting against the lethargy the drugs were causing. He was flushing the stress, and her treatment, out of his system. Thank god his son was down to stop him. Patience. A moment would come later in the day when their surveillance would slacken.

Harris was walking back and forth in the cockpit when she heard Will's clear voice in the corridor. Surprised to see him back up so soon, Harris tip-toed out of the command center of the ship in time to see the boy stepping into his sister's bedroom. Had John rebuffed his son?

Welcoming the opportunity, Harris headed for the auxiliary shaft access to the engine section of the ship. As she climbed down the ladder, the beam of a flashlight dispelled the dark passageway between the fuel tanks.

"I think that makes about ninety feet." The soldier flinched in surprise. "Oh, sorry. I thought it was Will."

"I saw him upstairs. Do you want me to call him?"

"Hey, dad? You're in there?"

"Yeah."

John stepped back to the engine room and Harris ground her teeth. What now?

She considered going back to her airlock, but it felt like absconding and absconding raised suspicions. Following John into the garage would be awkward. Besides, if she wanted a discussion with him, there was no better place than here.

While John's voice echoing reached her ears, Harris sat down in the middle of the passageway, stretched her legs in front of her, closed her eyes, and counted the seconds. Like the thunder, John's distant voice became louder. But she was the lightning.

"I'm just going out for a sec, no big deal."

"No way. When I tell you to stay inside, I mean it."

"Come on, Jude. Two minutes, top."

"Really? You're arguing? I thought you soldiers were more disciplined than that."

"I'm just tired of breathing recycled air."

"I understand, but guess what? You used all your bonus points with your morning run. So I'll help Will with his cables while you go take a shower and lie down with a book."

Harris swore she heard John's sigh of surrender from where she sat when a bright light hit her face. She raised a hand over her eyes and squinted.

"What are you doing here?"

"Headache, could you lower your flashlight, please? Thank you."

As John arrived at her side, she pulled her knees tight against her chest to free his path.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Been better. Feel like I'm coming down with something. A fatal case of boredom."

"Yeah. It's going around. Judy's in the garage if you need her." He turned to leave.

"I know, I heard her voice. I'll wait until she's in a better mood."

"Suit yourself."

"John?"

He stopped at the bottom of the ladder and looked back at her.

"I... er..." Harris took a deep breath.

"What?"

"Do you know that tale, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland? I know it sounds nuts but it's going over and over in my mind each time I close my eyes."

The robot's face would have been more expressing than John's at that instant.

"Don't tell me you raised two daughters and never read them this story or watched the movie with them?"

Silence. Connection still pending.

Then, John scratched his head. "Well, we used to watch those old classics with the girls when they were young, but I admit I slept through most of them."

"To make a long story short, in a dream, an adventurous little girl follows a rabbit into its burrow and because of her nosiness she faces all kinds of perils. But at the end, Alice wakes up on Earth, safe and sound."

"Yeah, that one. Now I remember. And you're telling me this why?"

"I admit I was curious to know what a peaceful, colonist life would be like, and I was certainly eager to profit from Alpha Centauri's wonders. But our rabbit didn't lead us there. Our rabbit is a killer machine, its hole is lifeless, and worse of all, we're awake while we are being buried alive. This sterile world is our grave."

John crouched next to her and passed a hand over his unshaven face, an unconscious gesture to get rid of a sudden sheen of sweat.

"We don't know that. There's water and oxygen on this world. Where we landed, it appears lifeless, but it's probably not. There are deserts on Earth too. Even on Proxima b, there are four major arid zones."

"It won't make much of a difference if we can't fly out."

"We're working on it. And I'm sure Maureen and Don will catch something to eat in that lake."

"I appreciate what you're trying to do, John. But I'm not one of your kids. You don't need to manage my feelings or keep my spirits up. I'm not afraid to die."

John stared at her. If he disagreed, he didn't say it. The connection was about to break apart.

As he stood up, Harris switched strategies.

"My father was a renowned neurosurgeon and psychiatrist," she said, staring into space. "Twice a year, he submitted us, my sister and I, to personality tests. He said he wanted to see how well we were developing, but what he really wanted was to spot the early signs of any phobia a human mind can be subject to so he could treat us before they became too overpowering."

John leaned his back against a tank. Like Alice, curiosity had convinced him take a peek into her mind. Time to drag him in.

"I was maybe four or five when Jessica told him that I was afraid of the dark. So he experimented with a desensitizing protocol on me. It worked. Now I can stay for hours, days, months without seeing the light and not feel any anxiety or discomfort. A few years later, a neighbor's infant died after falling into a pond. So he desensitized me of my fear of drowning. Same for my fear of crowds. And because, as you must have noticed by now, I'm a very contradictory person, my fear of being alone."

Harris paused to offer him the opportunity to react. But John spared her a pathetic banality, "I'm sorry for the crap your father inflicted upon you when you were a child", or a cynical, "Well, that explains a lot". Instead, he sipped at his coffee and stared at her in silence. Which was the best he could do.

"After our mother passed away, he cured me of my fear of dying."

She raised her eyes toward him and saw his eyebrows furrow deeper at the last statement.

"You wonder how can one achieve that, right?"

"Well, not how but why. It doesn't seem sane to me not to be afraid of death."

"Even in your line of duty?"

"Especially in my line of duty. Fear of death is what kept me alive."

"I see your point. But for my father, I think it was maybe the most sane thing he did with me."

John's puzzled face made Harris laugh. "Despite being a man of science, he was also a man of faith. Let's say he lived with his own contradictions, like any human being. He wished for the best education for his offspring, prepared us for the world, made us strong, determined, not afraid to take our rightful place. What every normal, caring father would do, right?"

Despite the disgust all the memories were bringing back to the surface, Harris kept smiling. "With my sister, we became, much to his pride, perfectly balanced children, teenagers, and young adults." She marked a brief pause to sweep the smile off her face before adding: "But above all, John, do you know what we learned to be perfect at?"

"You tell me."

Harris straightened her eyes. "Hiding our fears from him."

In the dark, she could hear him take a gulp and knew she'd hit a soft spot.

"My kids don't hide their fears from me, if this is what you're implying."

No, it wasn't, but this was an interesting reaction on his part. He doubted himself in his role of father. This was one of his weaknesses. Harris noted this in a corner of her mind before switching gears to drag him deeper into her burrow, to the place where it connected with his own abyss.

"We all hide our insecurities. But I was not talking about your children, John. I was talking about you."

"What do you mean?"

"How much do you know about how your brain works?"

"God bless the ignorant."

"The ignorant fools. But you're no fool, John Robinson, so don't feign ignorance. You know what happened to you down there, don't you?"

Harris watched him shuffle his feet as the sudden shift in the conversation made him uneasy. No, more than uneasy. His eyes had literally darted to the ladder. His body had just remembered the overwhelming panic he'd felt when she'd found him with a gun against his skull. It was time to score points.

"I was there, John. I was there to keep you from blowing a hole in your head."

Bringing a crushing weight to her testimony, Harris retrieved the projectile she'd been keeping in her pocket and gave it to him. The shock on his face was so deep that she almost pitied him.

"Don't worry. I haven't told anybody, though I did think about warning Judy. In my opinion, she ought to know, but that's not my decision to make. After all, she's still very young and might lack the experience in treating PTSD in the field."

"I don't have PTSD."

Said the man who was looking for the exits again, Harris noted. That he was still standing on his two feet was impressive, she could give him that.

"Don't freak out, John. It's okay. I wouldn't go as far as to say that your attempt of suicide was sane, but it has a reasonable explanation. You were not yourself. You were hallucinating. And during a severe psychotic crisis, self-harm is sometimes seen as the only way to stop an overwhelming torrent of emotions from literally poisoning your body. Trust me, I've been there. What I also know first-hand, is that nobody walks away from such a dreadful experience unscathed. The more you try to hide this, the more it will be obvious to people with medical training that something's wrong with you. By the way, if you think Judy has been a bit controlling lately, give her some slack, because that's one fear she's keeping to herself right now."

"Why?"

"Well, you'd have to ask her that question. Maybe she–"

"No. Why?"

Harris tilted her head, feigning confusion before his sudden aggressiveness. When she talked again, she was careful to use the quiet, professional voice of a therapist.

"You mean why did I save you? Again?"

He nodded.

"Well, I wasn't myself at that time either so… Okay, that was a bad joke. Look, I'm sorry, John." Harris sighed and slowly shook her head from side to side, as if she didn't know the answer to this question or hesitated to confide in him. When she spoke, she added a touch of bitterness in her tone.

"I am lunatic at times, I concede. Under dire circumstances I can do pretty crazy stuff. Egoist? Sure. A free spirit, definitely. But I'm no killer and I don't enjoy seeing people suffer. Let me be clear. I'll help if I can. But I won't sacrifice myself either. I'm no hero."

While she talked, John rolled the crushed bullet between his fingers, his gaze fixed at his feet, Harris stood up, arched her back, rubbed her neck as if it were stiff, and climbed up.

"Harris?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

Harris considered giving him a last bit of advice, but aware that he'd not really appreciate it, she settled for: "You're welcome," before leaving him to stew in his dark, gloomy thoughts.

As soon as the airlock door sealed behind her, Harris retrieved her notepad, and opened the encrypted file where she kept all her observations about the Robinsons and Don West. She clicked on John's picture. His record popped up. She clicked on the tab "observations", and in today's column, she added:

Day sixth of the treatment. 9:15 A.M. Test subject's state of mind: primed.


	8. Chapter 8

A Robinson Tale

Part II

The Storm

* * *

Chapter 8

Above the quiet lake, the two suns shone as one giant ball of fire in the deep indigo sky.

While Don connected the dinghy's pump to the chariot batteries, Maureen put down a second large box containing a dozen empty jugs on the white muddy bank next to the crystalline waters. She straightened up and took a moment to admire the wild landscape.

No wonder John had dived into the lake.

She closed her eyes and inhaled the fresh air to relax, but her brain wouldn't cooperate. It was focused on logistics and she made herself a note to take a soil sample. This world wasn't lifeless. The patches of silver-green grass that grew along the banks proved the earth wasn't sterile. It was worth getting a jug or two of dirt to try planting some seeds.

A loud splash and Don's cry of joy distracted Maureen from her thoughts.

"Come on, Maureen!" he shouted above the purring of the pump inflating their boat, perhaps the first mechanical noise ever heard on this world. "Take a dip!"

Maureen rolled her eyes at the mechanic's lack of seriousness.

"This isn't a leisure trip," she said, grabbing an empty jug.

No matter how careful she was, a little sand swirled into the container. Maureen put down the jug, removed her shoes and socks, and rolled up her pants above her knees. Then she stepped into the water and was surprised to feel how warm it was. After a few feet, Don's proposition became tempting.

Despite everything that had happened in their lives in the last weeks, John and Don knew how to seize every opportunity to unwind. Why couldn't she? Because unwinding had never been not on top of her priority list, not even back on Earth. Besides, John and the kids were waiting for good news. It seemed wrong to indulge herself while they worried about finding food. Also, there was the badly distorted signal that they'd received a few minutes after emerging from the wormhole and that she was still trying to clean up. It had been running through another filter since she'd left morning and she would have to ask Judy to check on the progress.

"You have no idea what you're missing."

Don's statement was followed by yet another cry of joy, so childish that she couldn't help but smile, although sadly. Don's insouciance, his optimistic nature made his company pleasant even under dire circumstances. They were lucky to find him. Not so much Harris, but at least the woman was keeping a low profile.

"So, were you working at a bar near his base to pay off your student loans?"

Damn, Don knew how to be annoying too.

"Why do you want to know?"

"To pass time. We're stuck here together so I thought maybe it's time to know each other better. Me, I'm Don West, son of Josephina West, in jail for prostitution and drug possession, and Aaron West, in jail for pimping and drug dealing. I grew up in Skid Row, L.A. with my two older brothers, Mike and Caleb, until they joined our father in men's central for being active members of MS13. I chose to join up instead in exchange for a promise the army would pay for my studies. Always liked fixing things you know, used to be playing with junk parts all the time when I was a kid. So I guessed that after a few years in the army, I could make it a real job, become a mechanic."

"Marines?" Maureen asked while she filled a second jug.

"Forty-Sixth Regiment. I crossed your husband's path in Tehran, by the way. Were you two already together at the time?"

Maureen shook her head and sighed, confused and a little upset at feeling the tension building in her jaw again. To release the muscles of her face took a conscious effort. Why did it bother her so much to talk about John and herself to a perfect stranger? Was Don still a stranger? Not really. A friend? Not yet. He was a lonely, stranded man, trying to connect what was left of his life to the only people around him, and she could at least relate to that.

"Iran was his first deployment, two months after we got married."

"Newlyweds? That couldn't have been easy for you."

She chuckled sadly. "We knew it would be long and that he wouldn't be in position to send me news every day or even every week. I had Judy, I was beginning my Ph.D at CalTech, a part-time job to make ends meet… days went by fast."

"You kept a busy schedule. Good thinking. Routine, trust, and faith."

"You know what? Ironically, the time I was the most scared for him wasn't even when he was at war. Will was born early. He was just out of the hospital, and John had finally managed to obtain a two-week leave to help me adjust. The blackout riots got too close to our city for comfort, but John kept his same running routine. As soon as he put the girls to bed, he'd go out for his regulation ten k. Then one night he didn't come back. I received a call from the hospital four hours later, telling me he'd been mugged."

"There wasn't a curfew in your place?"

"He'd managed to get a waiver. But I didn't have one, so I picked him up the next morning after driving Judy to school and Penny to daycare."

Reliving the memory caused her jaw to clench again. She let out a deep breath to relax but wasn't successful because another emotion rose from within: anger. It was at that time when she'd begun feeling angry at John. If he was needlessly putting his life in danger to run, was he as cautious as he claimed to be during missions? His "we don't take unnecessary risk" motto sounded hollow, eroding her trust in his judgment.

Moving into their house in Pasadena was the compromise they'd found to remediate the situation. The city was safer and she was closer to her new job at the Jet Propulsion Lab, making their everyday life easier in many respects, but not all. John signed up for one training session after another to raise his pay grade. In the four years they lived in Pasadena he went running perhaps a half-dozen times. Three-month long deployments became six-months while in between assignments took him away for weeks all other the states. His side of their walk-in closet remained undisturbed, his clothes neatly folded, collecting dust. He'd left.

Maureen suddenly felt sick to her stomach.

If John was the only one to blame in this situation, it wouldn't be so hard. He hadn't been the only one to get absorbed by his career. She hadn't canceled a business trip to Houston when he came home for two weeks one time, and more than once had missed his calls when she was in not-so-important meetings. But why had he hidden his diving accident from her? That really blew her mind. Did he really think that her job was more important than him? It had happened six years ago. About the time when their marriage started to crumble.

They both had set themselves on divergent paths. Her decision to leave Earth for Alpha Centauri, and above all, the attack on the Resolute had forced them to merge their lives back together but it was as if the shapes of their puzzle pieces were damaged and didn't fit as well as they used to.

Some of his reactions showed that he wasn't able to see the difference between a team and a family any more.

When he'd ordered Will to dive into the submerged Jupiter to retrieve the battery so they wouldn't freeze come nightfall, the soldier was in command, not the father, just as Judy had noted.

And then there was his claim about Victor Dhar, that she'd be surprised what a man could do to protect his family. Though she didn't expect less from him, the icy sharpness of his glance and the unemotional tone as he'd said these words had disturbed her deeply. It was the soldier speaking, not the caring husband.

Maureen put down the full jug on the bank next to the four others and flopped down.

Not the father. Not the husband. Was there nothing but the soldier left?

The soldier who was always in control of himself, save for the night he'd almost broken Harris's neck. That night, his eyes were raw with fear and panic and confusion. Was this what was left of him deep down?

Maureen shuddered.

Earlier in the garage, he'd looked so insecure, trying to get her attention in an almost childish manner. Maybe it was a sign that he was reconnecting with his emotions, allowing himself to feel again?

"Are you all right?"

Maureen straightened up and saw Don, still in the lake, staring at her with worry in his eyes.

"Yeah, sure. I am."

While the mechanic trudged out of the water and sat down next to her, she took a deep breath and let her gaze float on the horizon. Their life had collapsed from a metaphoric disaster to an actual one, but today there was hope.

"So, what did you do after the army released you?"

"I went into the aerospace mechanic bachelors' program at UCLA. Which I got with honors, before my worthless siblings and mother got early release and showed up on my doorstep."

"What happened?"

"I opened the fucking door, that's what happened. Should have kept it closed."

Maureen's eyebrow rose. It was the first time she had seen Don angry. She was about to question him but his basic need for communication got a jump on her curiosity.

"It so happens that my also worthless father wasn't so worthless after all. At least not to everybody. He had connections in jail or he made them there. I don't know and it doesn't matter. What does matter is that one of his connections got me the job on the Resolute. I didn't know it at first. I thought I'd gotten the position because I deserved it. Until the smuggling request showed me otherwise. The rest you can figure out. Your husband already has."

Maureen frowned. The alcohol smuggling operation Don had run was illegal, but benign, and until now, she'd thought that he was the only one involved because he seemed like an independent guy. But was he? A tremor rose within her guts as the ominous shadow of a much wider criminal organization formed in her mind and made her wonder again about how she'd got Will admitted to the program? Had she compromised her children? Herself? John too? She might never find out, certainly not on this planet.

"And no girl in all that mess?" she asked, pushing aside useless guilt.

"See? I knew you were the gossipy type."

"I'm not gossiping. You're the one who brought it up first, remember?"

"Okay. I admit it. Nothing worth mentioning."

"I don't believe you."

She glanced at him and was perplexed to see his eyes shine with a sudden sadness.

"Tara. She was a mechanic on the Resolute and one of the twenty-seven who didn't make it."

"I'm so sorry."

"Don't be. Not your fault," Don said as he picked up an empty jug.

Maureen picked up another and joined him in silence. They waded twenty feet out in the lake, till they were knee-deep in the water.

"We met on a river. Rafting," she said as they trudged back to the shore and all the way to the chariot.

Don's face lit up, surprising Maureen with his capacity to bounce back to his usual self. John used to be the same.

"Extreme sport! Nice! Now I understand why he was all grumpy this morning. Must kill him to see me leave with you for a boating trip."

Maureen smiled as she picked up another jug and stepped back into the lake. If a little jealousy brought John back to himself, she was fine with it.

"He'll survive."

"Of course, he'll survive, he's a super soldier who can kill with his eyebrows. I'm more worried about my own skin."

"Was a soldier."

"Yeah, sure."

"It's not like you were seriously making a move anyway."

"I'm almost never serious."

"Glad we've sorted that out."

"So you were rafting, you said?"

Maureen set her eyes on the horizon. "I didn't want to go. The weather was miserable that summer. But Grant's mother, Judy's grand-mother, convinced me to join my friends for the weekend. She kept saying that I needed to take a break, to relax before the semester began. I always loved the outdoors, been raised in the countryside, but had never gone rafting before. And here I was, enjoying myself for the first time since..."

Maureen took a deep breath to control the wave of emotions telling this caused her. A sad smile curved her lips as she forced herself to continue.

"On John's raft, timing was everything. They were racing down the river to break a record that another special forces team had broken earlier in the month."

"A matter of honor, I understand."

"They tried to pass us in a narrow rapids, our boats collided, and everyone went under. John was the one who helped me out of the river."

"Knowing your temper, you bit his head off instead of thanking him, am I right?"

"Like two particles colliding." Maureen laughed. "But in their defense, they made amends by helping us pick up our raft and all our supplies. We established our camp for the night while they settled a bit down the river, still wet from head to toe because a lot of their stuff had been carried away while they helped us." Maureen blushed again like it was yesterday as she remembered seeing John shirtless. "They tried to impress us with their survival skills by attempting to start a fire with wet wood."

Her smile widened. "Oh god, the smoke!"

"We invited them to join us for dinner and they turned out to be okay; not full of themselves, pranking each other like teenagers. But despite all their apparent happiness, their carefree laughs, I could tell there was something grave in their eyes, in John's especially. Each time he noticed my eyes on him, the shadow in his vanished and he bounced back with a joke or a story. I could have listened to his voice all night."

"Nerds and soldiers getting along. Who would have guessed? Not me for sure."

"We were unalike but some of us practiced scuba-diving and here they were, fully trained combat divers. Conversations were more technical than you think. So despite the rough start we had a great time. I had a great time."

"So you know how to have fun! There's still hope for you then," Don exclaimed as they both loaded jugs into the chariot.

Maureen was grabbing two more when the radio crackled. _"Jupiter Two to chariot eleven. Mom, do you copy?"_

Happy for this break in the conversation, Maureen climbed into the chariot to pick up the radio while Don kept on with water duty.

"Yes, Judy. I'm here."

_"How is it going? Any fish yet?"_

"We drove a bit further on the east side of the lake. The dinghy's still inflating. Is everything alright on your side?"

_"It's quiet. Will pulled a cable on the roof this morning but so far, nothing's happened."_

"How does your brother feel about it?" Maureen asked as a loud, happy cry sounded behind her.

_"What was that?"_

"Don just splashed into the lake."

_"I should have gone with you. This guy is nothing but a trouble magnet, I swear, if there is a single jellyfish or weever in the whole lake, trust him to find it. There's an epipen in your emergency med… in… se..."_

"Judy? I'm losing you. What's going on?"

_"Don... We're ...ving a drop in po…"_

"Judy? Say again."

Static only.

"Chariot eleven to Jupiter, please respond."

Maureen's tension increased as the silence stretched on, until Judy's voice came out clear again.

_"It's back. It was just a glitch."_

_"It's working!"_ Maureen heard Will shout before Judy yelled, _"Hey, don't snatch the radio from my hands!"_

_"Mom? The cable, it's working!"_

Maureen laughed in relief.

"Really? That's wonderful! You had me worried for a second here. Where's your dad?"

_"Taking his afternoon nap,"_ Judy replied.

_"I'm going to wake him up,"_ Will said.

_"No, you won't."_

"Yes, Will. Wake him up, and do it fast, please," Maureen intervened while Judy protested again, prompting her to justify her decision. "This is our opportunity for the robot to see your father first and bond with him instead of Harris."

_"And if the robot reboots to its original, killer programming?"_

"He didn't the last time."

_"But the risk exists and Dad–"_

"Is willing to take it. Judy, there's nothing in our situation that is safe."

_"I know. We cannot afford safe anymore, but still, I don't like–"_

A long and familiar eerie complaint drowned Judy out.

"Judy?"

_"Just what we needed. The ship is waking up too."_

_"Everybody put on ear protection!"_ Another all-too-familiar voice ordered.

Maureen's guts twisted at hearing Harris take charge of the Jupiter instead of John but she relaxed when she realized that if Harris was upstairs, then John was downstairs with the robot, alone. She needed to tell Judy to keep Harris busy. But as she was about to tell her daughter, the ship emitted another harmonic wail, so powerful that it made her cringe, even through the radio.

_"Mom? I'll have to call you back once we've managed to silence the alien tech again. Jupiter out."_

"Judy, wait!"

Maureen growled out of frustration and slammed her fist into the passenger seat before collapsing back.

"Something wrong?" Don asked, sticking his head into the cabin.

Maureen put her face in her hands and took a long, deep breath, taking the time to collect herself, to damp down the irrational panic that was threatening to burst her sanity like a bubble. She should be ecstatic about the ship switching back on, but instead she felt like the earth was about to swallow her up.

"Hey, you alright?"

Don's voice jolted her out of her torpor. She raised her eyes toward him and nodded.

"Hopefully, we're just about to gain flight control back."

"Great! That's excellent news! So why the sad face?"

Maureen swept the tears from her face and smiled, trying her hardest not to crumble into pieces in front of Don.

"Look, the dinghy is ready, but there's no risk of being boatjacked so we can leave our stuff here and go back to the Jupiter if you want."

"No," she said quickly, squaring her shoulders and exhaling deeply again to regain control of her breathing. "We have a mission," she added as she hopped out of the chariot. "And flight or no flight, there's fish on the menu tonight."

Don followed her and together, they dragged the boat into the shallow waters while Don planned their evening once the Jupiter joined them. "We'll make a huge party on the beach. The Jupiter will become our beach house! Always dreamt of living in a beach house, didn't you? And this one's perfect, beautiful sunrises and I bet crimson red sunsets...er… that way."

"That way," Maureen corrected, pointing East because the planet was rotating westward.

"No, that way. With West as a name, I knew my cardinal points before I could walk. That's the only useful thing my father ever taught me. You don't believe me? We'll see who's right tonight. If I am, you buy me a drink."

"Of your whiskey?"

"That's not the point. Get in, I'll push us off."

Maureen climbed into the inflatable and sat next to the outboard engine. As soon as Don joined her, she lowered it into the water, switched it on, and a few seconds later, a fresh, rejuvenating breeze was hitting her face. As they rushed toward the neverending horizon line, pure oxygen filled her lungs, flooded her veins, and exhilarated her senses. She felt alive again, free again, she wanted to commune with this thrilling moment, with this new world. Moving forward was all that mattered.

What made her glance above her shoulder, she didn't know.

Was it an irrational urge to check on their equipment left exposed on the bank? Was it the anticipation of seeing the Jupiter flying above the ridge? Or was it her nagging feeling that somehow the universe had jinxed them?

Whatever the reason, Maureen's hand clenched on the tiller as she veered one hundred and eighty degrees and brought the dinghy to a stop.

Don, who was sitting in the middle of the deck, busy preparing the fishing rods, yelled in surprise.

"A little warning next–" The mechanic's voice died away.

Blue lightning strikes illuminated the dark sky above the crest, bombarding the plain where the Jupiter lay with a blazing rage.

Gasping, Maureen opened a comlink on her wrist-computer. "John, do you copy? John?"

As static burst, a white-silver object appeared above the ridge, rising in a straight trajectory into the stormy sky.

"Is that the Jupiter?" Don asked. "I can't believe it! We've just been shipjacked!"

* * *

End of Part II

Coming next: Part III - Tempus Fugit


End file.
